What they saw before
by QueenYoda
Summary: This is the thoughts and realizations of those citizens of the Republic that meet fabled Jedi for the first time. Rumors and assumptions are proved incorrect, prejudices and admirers are formed. But everyone sees something different, that they did not see before. (A new chapter about Obi-wan's love who betrayed him, in Honor Of Valentine's Day.)
1. Chapter 1

Lux had seen pictures of General Skywalker before. The same amount of General Kenobi. And even more of them together.

But due to the fact that he had never met a Jedi before he met Ahsoka, they were different from what he had imagined.

For one, they did not look like men who would lead the clones who had killed his father. Skywalker's face was brazenly hard, handsome, slightly childish for the pure fact that he had an impish twinkle in his eyes. He was overly tall and muscles bulged even under his cloak. It was obvious he was a very strong man. He was almost like Ahsoka had described.

Kenobi, too, was like she had mentioned. He was smaller than Skywalker, though no less muscled. Under his beard, Lux was sure he was just as handsome as the other. His face was hard, like Anakin's, yet calmer.

His eyes were without a doubt sorrowful, yet unwavering with determination and overwhelming intelligence. It was obvious he was the brains of the team.

Lux had to stop himself from glancing up, because their stares scared him. And he had thought Ahsoka had fierce eyes.

The clone was speaking, saying something about the droids. Lux watched the Jedi behind him, their hands folded behind their backs peaceably. Lux saw the shine of lightsabers. Ahsoka's face, also, was unreadable.

The last time he had seen her, they had been friends, but now he did not see a friend. But a warrior. A capable Jedi and a woman who had seen war. He did not know what to say about that. Finally, Captain Rex was done speaking.

They all filed out of the room, ready to go. "Lux," Ahsoka said cordially. All traces of humanity were gone from her eyes. He nodded to her. Anakin walked up behind her, his dark blue eyes studying Lux intently.

Under his gaze, Lux suddenly wanted to turn into air. Obi-wan joined them, and Lux, instead of being air, wanted to be dirt. They could not glare at dirt, could they?

"Lux, I want you to meet my master, Anakin Skywalker," she gave him a significant look. "And **_his_** former master, Obi-wan Kenobi," She introduced. "So," Anakin said; his deep voice suspicious.

"This is the Separatist boy you met when Padme convinced you to illegally smuggle her behind enemy lines?" he demanded. Ahsoka smiled sheepishly. Lux blinked, she had what? Well, he should have guessed Ahsoka had not come to see him and his mother with**_ permission_**.

"Yep," Ahsoka did not seem concerned. Anakin sighed, exasperated. "What in the blazes are you doing here?" Obi-wan asked curiously. His eyes were kinder than Anakin's. Lux shrugged, unable to speak. They were scaring him.

Ahsoka noticed his discomfort. She grinned. "You guys are scaring him with your death glares," she told them. Both men looked stricken. "What death glares?" they demanded in unison. Had Lux no seen two men before him, he would have assumed they were one voice.

"The death glares you give everyone new that you meet. This is why I can never take you anywhere," she said, as if they were a major problem in her life with their stares. Lux felt a smile pull at the corners of his lips.

"They are not death glares. You want a death glare, you oughta see how I look at Dooku," Anakin retorted. Lux was surprised he was engaging this conversation with Ahsoka. He had imagined it would be below the great Anakin Skywalker to banter with his apprentice.

It seemed to be below Obi-wan, he continued to study Lux was curious eyes. "We **_all_** look at Dooku that way, master. It's customary. Master Kenobi, if you're done studying his heart rate and breathing scale, you can say hi now," she told the elder Jedi.

Respect for ones elders apparently was not on her list. Obi-wan did not seem to mind. Suddenly, a smile took over his face, and the hardened lines of weariness vanished and turned into mischievous fondness. Lux preferred that face.

"Well said, padawan. You have to forgive us Lux," he glanced at Anakin, who had cocked his head with crossed arms. "In this war, we have reason to suspect everyone of being a traitor," he apologized with a wave of his hand.

"And what was figuring out my breathing rate going to do about it?" Did he just say that? He could not believe he had found the audacity to say that. Even Ahsoka looked surprised.

Anakin, though, laughed and clapped Obi-wan on the back. "He has you there, Obi-wan. And technically he wasn't trying to test your breathing scale, Lux, but trying to figure out how he can use your existence to irritate me," he explained. The smile on his face made him all the more handsome. His eyes sparked with childish delight at a good joke.

"**I** could do that, Anakin," Ahsoka pointed out. Lux felt himself start to relax. He had imagined serious faced, unyielding Jedi who did not like him.

He had never imagined Jedi as**_ real_** men. Even Ahsoka seemed surreal. As if she were not an actual living creature, but rather an unexplainable entity who did all the regular things of living creatures.

"Obi-wan need's to get creative with it. Don't you, master?" Anakin asked. Lux saw a sparkle of affection in his eyes as he turned to Obi-wan. "Creativity is a virtue," Obi-wan told him wisely.

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Yah, yah, whatever. Anyway, you might as well get used to the death glares Lux; Rex has a worse one. And the second you don't get something right, you'll fall out of favor with Ahsoka," he nudged her playfully. "I think I already did when I nearly got her executed by the Death Watch," Lux pointed out.

Ahsoka grunted. "Oh please, do you know how often these two nearly get me executed a day? I swear; walking around with them is like walking around with two bombs on my head. I wish all you rebels luck," she sighed. "We aren't **_that _**bad," Anakin defended. "We make life interesting," Obi-wan agreed.

"Oh, and the 'small situation' we had with the bomb a few weeks ago?" Ahsoka demanded. "A minor detail," Anakin and Obi-wan replied in unison with a wave of the exact same hand. They reminded Lux of two brothers. Twin brothers who argued a lot.

"A minor detail? You blew up half the planet!" Ahsoka argued. "How is that our faults? You didn't set the bomb right!" Anakin pointed out. "You got me captured!" Ahsoka threw up her hands. "We got you out," Obi-wan pointed out to her.

"After the planet blew up!" Obi-wan merely smiled. "Well, it was uninhabited," he finished. "Yah, that was the only good news about it," Anakin mumbled. "What were you doing on an uninhabited planet?" Lux asked. **_"Do not ask,"_** the three Jedi shuddered.

Lux laughed. "I think this'll be fun," he suggested crossing his arms. "Probably for you. This doesn't become fun until we look back at it," Anakin yawned, not sounding worried.

"Half the time you get us into the situation, Anakin," Obi-wan reminded him. Anakin grinned and pretended to study his nails. "I know. Aren't I great?" he declaimed self-importantly.

"From a very deranged point of view," Obi-wan sighed. "Shut up, Obi-wan. You fail to see greatness when it hits you in the face. If I didn't know how hard you'd hit me back, I might think about attempting it," Anakin said haughtily. "You'd raise a hand and feel guilty about it before you ever finished the strike," Obi-wan laughed, unconcerned.

"You would," Ahsoka agreed. Anakin nodded. "Yah," he agreed without somberness. Lux decided he liked these men. No wonder he got on so well with Ahsoka. Anakin and Obi-wan were awesome.

"Sirs!" Rex called. In a flash of speed, all playfulness evaporated. The friends he had seen a second ago flashed away back into generals. "We're ready to go!" he called. "Very well, Rex," Obi-wan replied formally. He snapped his shoulders back into authority. Anakin's eyes hardened over like ice on a pond.

Ahsoka's muscles bulged and her young face was muttered over a time span of a second. The Jedi he had been joking around with before were gone.

Now they were not human. Not here to help, but to finish their mission and move on to the next warfront. Now he saw the Jedi he had expected to see when Ahsoka had arrived on his home planet all that time ago. The warriors of the Clone War.

With one last sad smile at Lux, Obi-wan turned. "Come, both of you," he commanded. Anakin flashed Lux one last glance before following close behind. Ahsoka did not look back, but brushed his arm as they went past. Lux watched them go with awe, sadness and admiration.

He saw under those leader-like masks they put on for the watching galaxy. He saw past the warriors of the Clone Wars.

He saw past the things that called themselves Jedi but knew that they were merely soldiers for a corrupt cause.

He saw into the secret skin of _The Hero With No fear_, The_ Negotiator_ and their famous, shared apprentice. And what he saw was not what he had once seen.

Now, he saw the very light and hope for the galaxy hiding at bay to bring back the peace he had once been a part of tearing apart. He and his mother had torn the Jedi from their true selves.

He thought maybe he would have a chance to give it back. Eventually.

* * *

Something I thought up after I watched the first episode of the season. If you liked this one (which I can't really see why you would, this isn't one of my best) then check out my newest series, Jedi legends: The Dawn Of Conclusion! (Its much better)


	2. Chapter 2

Steela watched the fire crackle in front of her, shivering.

Saw had given her his cloak, of course, but even with the added warmth of it and the fire, she was cold. Freezing with fear that she tried not to let show on her face; it very well probably would not have been noticed.

They were all afraid, and shaken up, despite their bragging and celebrations earlier. That day, they had accomplished something great.

They had been unearthed by Separatists, and yet had fought back. They had defeated a whole regiment, which General Kenobi assured them was not such an easy feat. General Skywalker insisted that they were ready.

Steela truly did not know. They had gotten lucky, sure, but were they lucky enough to go into Iziz and take down The Separatists there? The Jedi and clone had trained them well. All the same, could you actually train a person to get ready for death and sacrifice? The amount Stella knew they would have to achieve in order to win back their planet?

Steela looked around at the other rebels. Half the army was out here in the square around the fire. Saw sat on one side of her while Lux settled the other.

A long queue of people sat on the same bench. Saw was staring into the fire, his eyes far away. Probably thinking about their parents.

Lux was looking down at his feet, his handsome face soft by the orange glow of fire. Steela looked at it for a long while, feeling herself drawn in by the thoughtful purse to his lips, the strong tilt of his broad forehead, the short yet strong curve of his neck. Then those deep brown eyes that shone caramel in the fire…

He looked up, and Steela jumped back into staring at the fire before he could notice her attentions on him. In the morning, they set out to Iziz; that should be her focus, not the politician boy who was interested in Commander Tano all the same. If he was ignorant enough to develop a crush on a Jedi Padawan, who could not have attachments, then he was not for her.

Suddenly, the dark forest ahead of them rustled. Steela jumped off the board where she had wrapped her arms around her knees. Several others did the same, blasters aimed. But from the darkness walked General Skywalker and Commander Tano.

The Jedi grinned at the rebels, amused. Steela let out a breath of relief. "Did we scare you?" Ahsoka asked with a small smile. "Scared is only the start of what you did to me," Saw croaked, relaxing his muscles. Steela looked down at Lux, who had not moved.

The Politicians son smiled and shook his head. "Had they been droids, they would have been much less quiet about it," he observed, glancing at the rest of them, panting with racing hearts.

Anakin nodded in agreement. "Why aren't you all asleep? You'll need it for your mission in the morning," he asked. Steela sat back down, embarrassed. How could she explain that they were all scared for the mission ahead?

Ahsoka appeared to be younger than Steela, and there was no sign of fear on her face at all. The others seemed to agree. They shuffled their feet and looked down, muttering incoherent answers. Anakin stared at them curiously for a moment.

Steela avoided his eyes. She felt as if he were studying her soul.

"Looks as if they have pre-mission butterflies, general," said another voice. Steela turned to see Captain Rex walk from the base behind them, his goggles hanging around his neck. She sighed and nodded. "It's true," she said, loud enough to be heard.

The others mumbled their agreement. Anakin nodded understandingly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," he told them. _Easier said than agreed, Hero with No fear,_ Steela thought resentfully.

"Perhaps you should give them a show, general," Rex suggested, leaning against the bench Steela was sitting on. "It always eases our nerves, on the field," the clone explained to them. "A show?" Lux asked, looking to Ahsoka curiously.

She smiled at him kindly and then looked to her teacher. "What about it, master? Do you feel up to it?" She wondered. Anakin nodded. "No weapons, do you think?" He suggested.

"The lightsabers look nicer," Rex piped in, giving his opinion every five seconds. Steela was surprised, she had heard that clones were stoic and obedient, bred only to fight and die, and they knew as such. Yet Rex seemed so opinionated, much more so than Steela had expected.

"Very well," Anakin powered up a blue blade of pure energy. The weapon buzzed, as if a giant wasp hive had been packed inside of its power.

Despite the darkness of the night, the light from the sabers was brighter than that of the fire. Steela had seen the power those things radiated earlier, and stared at them in awe.

Ahsoka powered up her own, for some reason she had two whereas the other Jedi had one. "What are you two going to do?" Saw asked, also staring entranced at the weapons. Anakin only smiled, his face was remarkably handsome in the light.

Before he could answer, Ahsoka charged. There was a small gasp as Anakin went on one knee, his saber twisted to meet her own. Ahsoka sailed over him, smiling, and landed on the other side. Saw glanced at her, worry in his eyes. However, Captain Rex chuckled.

"Don't worry. If they wanted to hurt each other, you would feel the tension in the air. This is play," he assured them cheerfully. Steela watched the swirl of deadly weapons and wondered how anything could be play with that much power.

Suddenly, though, she did see it.

Ahsoka's two yellow/green lightsabers spun with enormous speed, twice the pace of Steela's blaster bolts. Anakin's azure saber flashed with less speed but with more skill. They had**_ different_** skills, she could see.

Ahsoka flipped and turned, tossing and spinning around Anakin with feet as light as a dancer's. She was moving so fast that Steela ceased to see the physical person and only saw the lightsabers. Anakin did not move so much, but he used power, Steela could see it in every move he made, as elegant as he was.

She had never seen a man so flexible or elegant, and she felt a blush creeping unto her cheeks from watching him. She glanced around, but everyone was caught in the spell of watching two amazing swordspersons fighting.

Steela found herself watching every stroke, every par and feint of these two, caught in a spell of careless amazement. Her fear melted out of her stomach like ice melting in the desert.

Very soon, the green, yellow and blue sabers turned into every color in the rainbow. Vivid red, dramatic blue, flamboyant white, lucid purple, even glowing black.

And they moved so fast that one color turned into the next without warning. _Magic,_ Steela thought. _These people are made out of pure magic._ Steela could still see the physical forms of Anakin and Ahsoka through this tangle of lights, and she was shocked.

They were smiling widely, sweat running down both faces as they twisted and turned with elegant ease.

Anakin picked up Ahsoka by the waist, spinning her at the same time as blocking the attack she aimed at his forehead.

Then he rolled back, and in the crucial seconds before the trick that is a back flip turns into full-effect, Ahsoka was on one hand, balanced perfectly on Anakin's stomach as his back bended in a posture that Steela had never thought possible.

Ahsoka walked on Anakin's middle-section for a moment, before Anakin rolled into a ball, flying backward. Steela looked up, to see the young girl fifty feet in the air.

Anakin had catapulted her up with his **_stomach_**!

Due to this amazing feat, and also in due to gravity, Ahsoka was falling back down. She was also spinning like a corkscrew as she came down, her head-tails flying around her in a flapping flag of blue and white.

Her two lightsabers were held in between her montrals, pointed straight down. Steela inhaled sharply, watching such amazing acrobatics. Anakin looked up from his position on the ground, and grinned with immaculate delight, so much that his face looked like one of a child.

Steela also saw love stir in his depths, along with pride. _How do they not __**die**__?_ She wondered incredulously, watching Ahsoka.

Anakin was nowhere near her; how in all the universe would he catch her? Or would she catch herself? How? She was falling from fifty feet up!

She was so close to the ground… Five feet… Four feet…. Three feet… Two feet…

"Wow!" The crowd gasped as suddenly Anakin slid forward on his knees and caught his apprentice in his arms as if she weighed little more than a feather. Steela let out a breath he had not known she had been holding in. Ahsoka was alive! The young girl was also laughing.

It was the first laugh Steela had heard from her, and she saw a grin stretch over Lux's face. Evidently, he had never seen her laugh either. Anakin was glowing as he panted. "Blast, Ahsoka," he said as he stood and put her down.

Ahsoka put away her lightsabers, and Anakin stretched out his weapon flew to his hands as if it had been called, and he clipped it back on his belt.

"You've gotten faster. And that corkscrew spin was a new one, you're lucky I caught you," so it **_hadn't _**been planned? Alternatively, choreographed. To someone who knew nothing about the Jedi; they would have assumed these two were dancing.

Steela felt the breath leave her lungs in a whoosh, and yet she still felt overly breathless. The spectacle had been priceless to watch, yet so nerve-racking she had found her knuckles were white from squeezing her knees so hard.

"Sorry, master, but it did look nice, huh?" Ahsoka replied, not sounding at all apologetic. They seemed to have forgotten the crowd they had been performing for. "Maybe. A little cheap, though… Ow!" He laughed as Ahsoka nudged his arm with a sharp elbow.

"Aren't they amusing?" A new voice said. Steela jumped for the second time that night and spun around to see General Kenobi standing next to Rex, his arms crossed and eyes crinkling at the sides with laughter. "Why do you all **_do_** that?" Lux gasped, he had gone pale. "What?" Obi-wan asked innocently. "Did I scare you?"

Saw chuckled weakly next to her. "I might just die of fright before we can save the planet," he answered. "Try basically **_living_** with these three," Rex grunted, shaking his head. "That was **amazing**!" Someone suddenly gasped, having just then come out of the spell Anakin and Ahsoka had painted. Similar sentiments went around.

Anakin shrugged. Ahsoka walked over and sat down across from her, in between Gulanji and Frea. There was a sheen of sweat on her brow, but she was smiling. "They can do better," Rex told them confidently, sounding slightly bragging about this.

"We can, but those tricks would be too dangerous near the fire," Ahsoka agreed. "You didn't look the same as you did fighting the Death Watch," Lux piped up thoughtfully, staring at Ahsoka with nothing less than extreme veneration.

The smile on her face lessened, and the childish sparkle of innocence in her eyes died completely into plain kindness. Somehow, with that sparkle gone the magic in the atmosphere was less.

"There are three types of forms a Jedi can take. One is kill, the other disarm and another practice or play. I was trying to disarm Viszla, not kill him. What we were doing," she jerked her head to Anakin.

"Was play," she explained. "Play?" Saw croaked. "You could have been killed!" Ahsoka smiled. "Death no longer has any meaning to me," she replied cheerfully.

Steela assumed it would not. "You look tired," Obi-wan teased Anakin. "Getting old," Anakin agreed breathlessly, stretching his back. "I think Ahsoka nearly broke my spine when she stood on me," he gasped.

Ahsoka chuckled. "It was for ten seconds!" She said. "Nine seconds too long," Anakin added, plopping himself down in front of the fire. He looked so young, so relaxed that Steela could not help but admire his cool.

It was obvious who was still in charge, of course, but now their leader seemed to be just another rebel sitting by the fire. "You're fast," Saw said to Ahsoka, who shrugged. "It's my style. I work with speed and flexibility. Anakin," she waved at him lazily.

"Works with power and strength. And then Master Skywalker says that Master Kenobi bores his victims to death with lectures," she told them knowingly.

"Oh, he **does,** does he?" Obi-wan demanded, turning to Anakin who was still trying to shush Ahsoka by metaphorically running a hand across his throat.

"What?" He asked, when he noticed Obi-wan's glare. "It's a good style!" the rebels chuckled as Obi-wan shook his head.

"How could you do that?" Lux asked. "You two looked perfectly in sync," he said. "It's our bond," Anakin explained dully, staring into the fire. "You're who?" Steela could not help but echo. "It's sort of like telekinesis," Rex explained. Steela frowned; telekinesis was the ability to share thoughts, as she understood it.

"It's a type, yes," Obi-wan agreed logically. "A bond is a force connection between master and apprentice that most Jedi develop. Our substitute for love, you might say. With it, we can communicate across planets with our minds; feel each other's pain and thoughts. That sort of thing. A bond is built through trust and friendship, and as such can be broken just like those things," he gave them what Steela was sure was the precise definition.

"You can read each other's thoughts?' came a delighted voice. Steela wasn't so sure she would like the privilege of a bond. She would not want Saw in her mind; that was for sure. "Only if we let each other," Anakin answered.

"A bond can be closed, just like a door. When a Jedi is interrogated, we will often close the bond so that whoever is connected cannot feel our pain. And whenever Ahsoka is angry with me and doesn't want me in her head lecturing, she can close it and all I know is that she's mad at me, which is very unhelpful," he told them jokingly.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes and rested her knees on her elbows. "Not to me," she chirped plainly. "I couldn't imagine you in my head all the time. Nor do I want to be in yours," she told him. Anakin nodded in excited agreement. "Anyway," Ahsoka continued, sounding as logical as Obi-wan.

"Those two look better when they practice," she looked at Anakin and Obi-wan, pointing out whom she was talking about. "Because they've had a bond longer," she explained.

"It's the strongest bond in the Order," she added, almost as if an afterthought. "**_One_** of the strongest," Obi-wan and Anakin corrected in unison. Ahsoka nodded and swiped at the sweat on her brow.

"Does anyone feel better?" Steela blinked, having forgotten why they had given the show in the first place. "I do, thanks," she said. "Yah," Saw piped in. "I forgot all about my nervousness," of course, he would call it nervousness when the rest of the universe would describe it as fear.

All of a sudden, Rex's comm. Link beeped. "That would be the council," Anakin said, standing. "Indeed it would be, come Ahsoka," Obi-wan said, turning back towards the huts. Ahsoka hopped from the bench, her face once more concocted into serious maturity.

Anakin crossed his arms, his once friendly voice now commanding. "Get some sleep, all of you," he ordered. "Victory will not be won easily," no, Steela assumed it would not be. The rebels nodded, and someone poured a bucket of water of the fire.

It went out like the hiss of a lightsaber, bathing them in black. Steela looked at the spot where the Jedi had been a moment ago, but they were gone, having vanished into the safety of the hut.

"Quick, aren't they?" Saw mumbled. "And creepy," Lux added with a shiver. Steela stood and stretched, shaking her head. "I don't know," she contemplated. "I like them," she said.

"We all do," Saw agreed. "But you have to admit, I'd hate to have to fight against them with those moves," Steela felt something like alarm stir in her at the thought. Would she want to fight the speed and power demonstrated a moment ago?

"They aren't enemies I'd like to have," she consented, handing Saw back his cloak. He took it, eyes dark with the realization that somehow, someway, the Republic was rumored to have been losing the war.

"What will happen to them if the Separatists win?" Steela wondered out-loud.

Everyone looked up, frozen with confusion at the question, then looked at the place the Jedi had been in a moment ago. "They will die," Saw whispered sadly, expressing what they all knew. "They will all die," Steela shivered.

She could very well imagine how, as well. And it was something she did not want to think about, much less imagine how they felt living with it.

* * *

More to come as soon as I get a new idea.

~Queen Yoda


	3. Chapter 3

They threw her in, bruised, beaten and betrayed.

Twyla gasped as her back hit the wall, thrown by her own droids. She landed on her hands and knees, sweat pouring from her long black hair into her eyes.

Her teeth were clenched so hard she wondered if perhaps she would break them, if she tried for any harder.

"You can't do this!" she sprang at the door, defiantly, one last time. But it slammed shut. Twyla could not have cared less. With a feral rage, she slammed her fists against the ray-shield.

"Let me out! You can't do this! I am a _general;_ do you hear me Grievous? I. Am. A. Separatist. Citizen!" At each word in her last sentence, she kicked the ray-shield furiously.

She did this for awhile; anger propelling her like a feral animal. She lost all track of time as tears poured down her face and slobber trickled out of her mouth with each scream.

Then the while was over, and adrenaline mixed with rage had been spent out. She leaned against the invisible wall, panting for breath. _So this is it,_ she thought. _This is what I get, for trying to be somebody._ She shook her head and closed her eyes.

"This is what you get," she mumbled. "When you are a Separatist with mercy," she murmured and let her mind wonder into despair. _Will I never see you again, Mackentai?_ She wondered. _My girls, my beautiful daughters, please do not follow my path. You were right. I am a fool. _

Before she could get all the way into the tunnel of horror, with dark walls and no escape, though, a voice met her ears. "Is it?" Twyla jumped and twirled around, holding onto the door with all her strength, ready for any attack.

However, what she saw instead took her breath away. There was no assassin ready to kill her quickly and with no witnesses. It was Jedi. Not only that, but one of the most famous.

The Jedi was just as she had envisioned. Handsome, bold, elegant, proud, yet somehow still... Childish. There was something mischievous in his face, almost teasing.

His keen azure eyes stared at her with wary curiosity, as if he expected her to either start sobbing or attack him. By the look of him, he should prefer an attack.

He looked nothing like Mackentai, but somehow the thought of her husband sprang to mind when she noticed the scar running across his left eye, as thin as if someone had merely drawn it there with a fading pen.

Slowly, as if it had no clue whether it should go on beating or just stop now, her heart slowed. Twyla stared at the Jedi sitting across the cell, staring at her passively. He was cross-legged, straight backed and tall. His brown hair curled at the back, creating a devilish look.

Twyla wondered what in the universe he was doing aboard General Grievous's prison ship. Then she remembered a vital fact, one she would have been severely scolded for forgetting, had she still been at the academy. She remembered that the Jedi were on the side of The Republic, the Separatist's sworn enemy.

Hadn't she just fought a battle with some Jedi a few days earlier? Had he been defeated? Yes, she had defeated him, but she had never read the name of the Jedi they had captured while his troops retreated.

Oh.

Twyla gulped and pressed herself against the door like a trapped animal. Jedi were harmless without their weapons, she hoped. She stared him down with as much dignity as she could muster, given the circumstances. She was sure she must have looked horrible.

Her hair was untied and filthy, her clothes torn and also repulsive, and the time in torture had surely put a crazed look in her eyes. The Jedi did not seem to notice nor care about this. He regarded her as one would an unfavorable but undeniably interesting insect.

"I must look awful," she said softly. Her mouth seemed to work at any rate, even if her brain was slow to catch up. The Jedi smiled feebly. "I've see worse, trust me," he assured her.

"Oh." She replied breathlessly. "Thank you. You don't look at all bad either," she said by instinct. That seemed to amuse him. He grunted and shifted himself slightly, still watching her unblinking eyes.

"It's alright," he said at last. "I will not hurt you," she did not believe him for a second. "Are you trying to tell me you're helpless?" She demanded, offended by his assumption that she had not any intelligence whatsoever.

"No," The Jedi snorted. "I'm not. Though, I'm not as powerful as I could be," now he held up his hands, which had been hidden in his lap. They were shackled together with force-resistant bonds. Twyla let out a slow sigh of relief. At least he could not hurt her with the force.

"I told you," The Jedi said, putting his hands back down. "I'm not going to hurt you. If I was planning too, don't you think I would have done so already?" he asked. Twyla frowned, allowing her overwhelmed brain to think. It gave her no helpful answers that she did not already know.

"I haven't the slightest clue," she admitted, after a moment's deliberation. "I've never met a Jedi before. But I saw the way you maneuvered your troops in battle. And I could see you aren't stupid," she concluded, proud of herself for that earlier observation. The Jedi ducked his head, and she could tell she'd pleased him.

"Yes, well, your tactics were very impressive as well," he looked back up at her, and now his eyes were slightly less studying and more friendly. "Why don't you sit down? You look ready to faint," he said. Twyla supposed she was. She let herself droop to the floor, still pushed against the door.

"It's been a long day," she explained pitifully. He nodded. "It sure has been. Forgive me, but I never got your name…?" He looked at her expectantly. She glanced him up and down. He had manners, surely.

"Twyla," she said at last, deciding that it could not be of any harm to her now to let him know. She was going to be executed in the morning, anyways. "Twyla Pnolder," he nodded and outstretched a hand. "Anakin Skywalker," she stared at the hand warily.

Anakin chuckled. "Come on," he shook one hand, making the chain around it jungle. "Do you think I could do anything chained up like this? Besides, why would I kill my only source of company?" Twyla could have given him many reasons, but she stayed silent, staring.

_ I'm going to die anyway,_ she thought. Hesitantly, expecting it to be gone the next second, she held out a hand and took his. Anakin grabbed her hand and shook it warmly, with a reassuring, strong grip that made her bloody hand tingle with renewed blood circulation.

She took her hand back, and was surprised to see the multiple cuts on it were-in front of her eyes- melding themselves cleanly.

"What…?" She gasped, wondering what in the universe he had done. The Jedi smiled. "My apprentice showed me how to do that before the battle. She said she learned it from a Jedi physician she met while on Alderran. Interesting, isn't it?' He asked, looking at her hand with frank pride.

"Oh," Twyla said again, deflated with awe. "Yes, that was quite nice. Thank you. My daughter would love to meet your apprentice. She would have loved whatever you just did and known all how it works," Twyla had no clue why she had said that.

She had not meant to start talking about Brilla, but her eldest daughters name popped put before she could control it.

Tears folded her eyes. She would never see her beloved child again. "Oh?" The Jedi asked curiously, unseeing of the tear that rolled down her cheek. "Is your daughter studying medicine, then?" He asked. Twyla wiped the tear away angrily, desperate to distract herself.

"She wants too, but women are forbidden to do such things on my planet. I encouraged her to fight the law, as many women are doing nowadays, but she believes that women were born to marry and raise children, apparently," she rolled her eyes at the beliefs of the past.

Though**_ she_** had gotten married, both her and her husband knew that women were capable of doing just as much as men were. Besides, Twyla had also fought the regime by struggling her way up to become a Separatist general, the first woman on her planet to ever do so, as well.

The Jedi snorted. "My apprentice would cure her of that notion," he said confidently. Twyla studied her enemy. "Where **_is_** your apprentice?" She asked, wondering if maybe she might have been captured, too, and was sitting in the cell at the exact moment.

He glanced away, and Twyla saw concern flash in his eyes. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I told her to stay down when I was captured, but knowing her, she probably did the complete opposite," he sighed.

Twyla felt a smile quirk at her lips. "She sounds like Millie, my youngest," she said softly. "She's reckless?" Anakin asked, looking up with sparkling eyes.

"Impulsive, big-mouthed, naïve, and brave," Twyla sighed longingly. "My daredevil. Yet she does not have the drive to go very far. That is why I struggled so hard to be a General, to give them something-**_someone_**- to look up to who wasn't a male," rage was building up again, tickling at the embers it had left before.

"But now look where my drive has gotten me. Now I will never see either of them again," she ground out, and suddenly she was weeping. Rage had dulled down to grief and dread.

She put her face in her hands, shaking with emotion. _Brilla, Makentai, Millie, oh, my family. I don't want to leave you. Please, I don't want to leave you. If I could go back, I would. If I could go back and change things. If only I could say __**goodbye**__…_

Then there was a hand on her shoulder. Something like warm air rushed over her and suddenly her eyelids were heavy. Her mind fell calm like a wave that had just settled after a storm.

She let her head fall back against the door. "Feel better?" The Jedi asked. He was very close now, and in the blurriness of her mind, he looked very much like Mackentai.

"Yes. What did you do?" She half-demanded. "I… just helped you calm down a bit," Anakin said hesitantly. He was kneeling right over her, his face obscuring her vision of anything else. He smiled, and suddenly she was seeing an angel instead of a Jedi. She blushed, embarrassed to be receiving the attention of this angel.

"Will they execute you too?" She blurted, wondering how she could have beaten this man and put him in this situation. Anakin cocked an eyebrow.

"No," he said shortly. "They don't execute Jedi, not at first anyway. I'll probably be taken to some interrogation camp where I'll be tortured for information," he seemed perfectly fine with this plan.

"Probably?" She asked. Anakin grinned. "Unless Rex, Ahsoka, or Obi-wan comes to get me out," Anakin finished with a confident smile.

"How do you know they'll come?" She asked, wondering at his confidence. She wanted Mackentai to come save her. "Jedi do not leave each other behind," Anakin replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"Nice of them," she said dryly. "Separatists certainly do," she grumbled. Anakin studied her. "You were leader of the droids a mere few days ago, why are you here now, General Pnolder?" He asked. Twyla laughed bitterly, why was she here? She had no clue. The reason she was there made no sense.

"For being merciful," she answered. Anakin cocked an eyebrow at her, inviting her to go on. Twyla sighed. She did not actually want to go into this, but someone-anyone, even a Jedi- needed to know what she had done, why and how she had died. She wanted someone to know that it had not been due to mere casualties. It had been due to cruelty.

"My orders were to capture the people of the village you and your troops were defending, after the battle," she began, as she set her head against the wall and closing her eyes.

She could see the village now, and the eyes of the fearful people who had watched as the Republic troops had run off in a reluctant and honorable retreat.

"I would have done so, I knew that those were the conditions of war. If only Grievous had not told me what I had to do with them. He wanted to use them as slaves or hostages. Imagine, children, hostages to use in war!" Anakin nodded somberly.

"You didn't do it?" He asked. Twyla shook her head, how **_could_** anyone do it? she had children of her own, and she had seen the eyes of the mothers who had overheard the conversation.

What if that had been her daughters and her husband? No, she had not done it, by any means. "No, I refused. I absolutely refused, and that droid monster charged me with insubordination and compliance with the enemy," she shrugged, exhausted by her own tale.

Anakin was watching her with new respect. "You are a brave and honorable woman," he said, almost cautiously.

She received the distinct impression that he was debating whether to believe she was telling the truth or not. "Do you know what your punishment is to be?" he asked. "Execution," she was going to die.

Anakin's expression did not change. She imagined execution did not terrify him as much as it did her. After all, he did not have a family waiting for him at that temple of his. "Your daughters should be proud. Courage like yours is rare, nowadays," he said. Twyla shook her head.

"They'll never see me again. Dooku will tell them I died in battle or something of the sort. They won't know what ever really happened to me," there were the tears again, but when Twyla closed her eyes, only one fell out of her pupil. She was out of tears.

"You won't be punished for your mercy, general. I won't promise I can get you back to your family, but I will get you out of here," she opened her eyes at his resolute tone.

Anakin's eyes reflected his tone, determined and reassuring azure pupils stared back at her. Twyla wanted to laugh; he thought she preferred life to never seeing her girls again?

"Do you have anyone you truly love, Jedi?" She asked evenly. The look of pure shock on his face was hilarious. Twyla was almost sure she had surprised the living force out of the poor man, after all, it was a well known fact that Jedi were not allowed to have attachments.

However, from the look on this young man's face (a man, who, Twyla suddenly realized, was several years younger than her) he did not care much for the rules of conduct. Just like Millie.

"What business is that of yours?" Anakin finally found the breath to gasp. "Just answer me," Twyla answered passively. She leaned back and crossed her arms, feeling an odd sense of accepting calm float over her, accompanied by sadness. She knew she was going to die.

Anakin glared at her defiantly for a moment. She answered with the same calm, serious stare that she had used to curb Millie's rebellion. "Perhaps," the Jedi answered at last, cautiously. He was no fool.

Twyla nodded. "And if you had a choice whether to live or die, knowing the only stipulation was that you'd never see that person again, would you do it?" She asked. "But…" The Jedi began doggedly. "Would you?" Twyla pressed. For some reason she wanted-needed- to know his opinion. It meant more than it should have.

Anakin looked away, and his handsome face contorted into thoughtfulness. Twyla watched him, and wondered if perhaps he **_did_** have a secret wife out there.

_ Ridiculous, impossible, illegal,_ she thought distantly. Then added; _but goodness, she would be a lucky woman to find a face like that._ He really as quite a looker, youngling or not.

What bothered her most about his appearance, though, was that he was so young. He was younger than her; anyway, she could see that, yet the military techniques he had used were for someone who was three times his experience.

A few days ago, they had been enemie's, she had aimed tanks at this Jedi, at this barely out of boy-hood Jedi. She had gotten him captured, and he wasn't even old enough to grow sufficient hair on his chin.

"No," The boy-Jedi murmured. Twyla was snapped out of her brooding. "No?" She asked. "No," he shook his head. "I would rather die than live knowing that there was no way I'd ever see them again," them, interesting. So there was more than one person he loved.

"Then you see my point," her completely foolish, suicidal point. He nodded. "I understand. But are you so certain that you'll never see them again? Maybe I could…" He was sweet, at least. Naïve, but sweet.

"If I'm ever caught within Separatist territory, I'll be arrested and have to go through this all over again," she pointed out, interrupting him. Anakin's shoulder's sank. "Oh," he said dejectedly. Twyla smiled feebly, wanting to cheer him up for some reason, as if he were a sad child.

"Do not grieve over me, general. Before I die, I got the chance to meet a famous Jedi, that's a chance I never thought I'd get, except on my last breath," Anakin smiled feebly and nodded. She cocked her head at him.

"What Dooku says about the Order is wrong," she told him, softly. "You don't seem at all like a hypocritical, thieving, manipulative liar," she concurred. Anakin surprised her half out of her wits by laughing.

It was a deep, loud sound, that made her jump and let out a small gasp. "That's what he says about us?" Anakin gasped out, having found this assumption hilarious. "And you all **_believed_** it? Force, I oughta tell that one to Obi-wan, he'll go red laughing. Though, I suppose Dooku might have us on some accounts. I'm a very skilled liar, my old teacher is known for manipulation and stealing is something we don't think twice about, admittedly," he said, not at all rueful.

Twyla shrugged. "But you aren't cruel or evil," she pointed out. Anakin shook his head. "I hate unfairness," he informed her firmly. He stopped, thinking a moment.

"Actually, now that I stop and think about it, none of us are. When I was small I used to think the Jedi were unfeeling and cold. But now, looking at Dooku and his methods," he gave her a pointed look.

"I'm glad I was found by the right side. I can't ever imagine the Jedi doing things like this to people like you. Not even in war. It's not who we are," he brooded out –loud. Twyla had to smile. Mackentai used to think aloud.

"You are a deep-thinker, I see," she commented. Anakin snorted and rested his chin in his hand. "Uh, no. That would be Obi-wan the great and annoying philosopher," he sighed with a roll of his eyes.

Twyla glanced around at the cell. Her heart was starting to race, for some reason. She could very well imagine why. Morning was almost upon them. "You love him," she guessed. Anakin glanced at her, surprised.

"You love him, your Padawan and someone else, I can tell," he blinked, apparently speechless. _Another first, I got a Jedi to fall out of words!_ She had to smile at the thought, as dull as the smile may have been. "She's a lucky woman, you know, whoever she is," Twyla continued delightedly.

"You're a good catch in the woman world. Worth ten slouch husbands. Most men don't depend upon honor, intelligence, or manners, but rather looks. Not that you lack those, either," she studied him a moment.

"You're rather cute," she observed. The Jedi's mouth fell clean open as he spluttered unintelligibly, staring at her. Twyla chuckled and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the smile on her mouth. She might as well.

She had about ten minutes left. _I wonder if the sun is out,_ she thought dreamily.

"Cute?" Anakin repeated in a squeak. "And fluffy," Twyla added, eyes still closed. **_"Fluffy?"_** Anakin nearly screamed. "I am not fluffy!" He objected.

"I think Ahsoka would beg to differ," Twyla laughed. "Nor am I cute!" Anakin added, glaring death daggers now. "Again, your secret woman might disagree, ask her. Us women are always honest," she told him.

Anakin remained speechless, still gawking at her boldness. "Cherish every moment with her, Anakin," Twyla whispered as she heard the clank of feet outside the door.

_You will __**not**__ cry,_ she thought, opening her eyes. Anakin was blurred in front of her. He was also still glaring at her indignantly but also with confusion.

"Cherish every moment. Tell them you love them every day," like she had not told Mackentai. "And most of all," she gave him a wan smile. "Stay a good boy," just as she had told her daughters.

_ "Stay good girls,"_ she had to hope they would. Anakin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door slid open. Twyla looked up and smiled pleasantly at the five battle droids standing above her.

"Its morning already? A shame. I was having fun," she said, and the racing of her heart increased. She was going to die. She glanced at Anakin, whose face had smoothed back over into maturity as he stared passively at the droids. His eyes met hers.

She stood, her legs trembling. "Your courage will not go in vain," Anakin promised evenly. She nodded. She knew it wouldn't. Not with Anakin still left in the world.

"I never had a doubt," she felt her arm sear with pain as suddenly the droid snatched her arm tightly in a cold grip.

She kept her eyes on Anakin. She would not be afraid.

"It was an**_ honor_** to meet you," his head dipped in a bow of respect that she had never seen with so much sincerity. Good, she had done something for this war, even if it had been for the wrong side. She had given this Jedi strength, and what else mattered?

"I'm sure," she chirped. "It was also a pleasure to meet you," she raised her eyebrows. "Have fun fighting Grievous," she wished him luck. The Jedi ducked his head and grinned. "Oh, I **will,"** it was a promise.

"Good boy," Twyla half-laughed and half-sobbed as the other droid took her other arm in its grip. Anakin watched her, his entire body tensed as if he wanted to go after her. But he knew what decision she had made. The one she wanted. The only way she could ever be happy.

She would die a fulfilled woman.

"Let's go, prisoner," the droid snapped, in a squeaky, mechanic voice. She rolled her eyes. "Don't be rude," she felt the need to scold. She looked back at Anakin, who was still watching her.

Twyla gave him a single nod, which he returned, and in that moment, she could have sworn she saw Mackentai.

_ "Oh, Twyla, you are a brave but stupid thing. I love it." _

_ "Mom, women are only good for birthing and house tending, but you might be good at whatever it is you plan on doing too."_

_ "You're going to war. Of course. With all due respect, ma'am, you're an idiot. But only you would be idiot enough to be the first woman to become a kriffing general."_

The droids shut the door, and Anakin was gone. Twyla only laughed as they dragged her away, bruised, beaten, betrayed, all the way until the bullet ended it all. She died with Anakin in her mind and heart.


	4. Best friend

Sera had lived long enough to witness more than her fair share of hardships, struggles and surprises. Despite her vast wisdom and knowledge though, she had never expected to experience the amount of aggravating _boredom_ that bewitched her now.

She has no plausible clue why she had come, only that feral instinct had demanded it of her. Now she was regretting having ever been born with instinct. Her eyelids weighed a ton, at least.

Her body had mysteriously lost all muscle and thus drooped as if she were an old man. She only felt this way when she was especially bored.

"Of all the blasted things I could be doing tonight," she mumbled, watching her friend chatter and flutter about like a moth around a lamplight.

The prince actually liked these parties, and gave not a modicum of consideration to his loyal guard, who had been protecting his family since she herself was a girl and The Prince's young mother was a baby.

She felt so _old_, when she thought about it like that.

Sera sighed again and continued tapping on the table lightly. Why had she insisted on coming with this foolish boy? Scampering around women like a hoodlum?

He had no grace, no eloquence to it; she would have to teach the young scamper a lesson on such things.

Goodness knew he was getting too old to flash what they had always dubbed 'his cute smile' at people anymore.

He was nearly seventeen years old. Sera sighed a third time and pulled absently at her collar.

She was dressed as she usually did, as a guard. Her violet skin, shiny and dark as night itself, flashed a brilliant black when she turned it the right way. Her hair, pure gold, was tied into a bun behind her head.

"Sera," the prince called excitedly, as he walked up, his gray eyes flashing with childish delight. The excitement in his eyes forces her to grin. She has known this boy since he was an infant.

She had held him to her breast when he cried, taught him how to read, write and walk, she was there for all of it while his parents ran a kingdom. He was more her child than his own mother's, and he knew it just as much as she.

"Yes, prince?" She asked, hoping that he had some distressing news or preparations for which he needed defending from. At least, then she could do something.

"Do you see that woman over there?" She perked up in her seat immediately as he peeked conspicuously around his shoulder. Sera saw her immediately, and her hand was on her blaster at once.

"Count Dooku," he lowered his voice more, and leaned in towards her, his once joking eyes now dead serious. "Demands we kill her, and all of them, to ensure our planet's loyalty," he whispered.

Sera nodded with a frown. "The Senator from Naboo is here," she muttered, recognizing the once-queen.

"Padme Amidala," he nodded. "A special target. You plant the bombs when the time is right. You've always been sneakier than me," he flashed a grin. "Alright? This mission cannot fail. The Separatists will never accept us if we do not finish this mission," he explained urgently.

She nodded. "It will be done, prince," she whispered back, still studying the woman that had once been her role model, and now an enemy.

She did not exactly agree with betraying the Republic, and taking innocent lives to do it, but everyone who was anyone had heard about what happened to planets that did not pick a side in this war, and she did not intend for her planet to become another.

With that said, the prince- who shared her views- nodded and turned on his heel sharply, smile back in place as he sauntered away.

She smiled and shook her head. She still about two hours before dinner started and she got a chance to poison the wine. She had no clue how or when she would do this, but she knew she must.

So, she would.

Fortunately for her, she still had two whole hours of more boredom mess before she could try at any escapade that could cheat her out of her life.

Sera sighed again and placed a very unfeminine elbow on the table, propping up her head as she gazed at the giant masses of senators, representatives and local stars of holo-dramas all inter-mingle tensely.

She rolled her eyes. It was all fake. All of it.

Suddenly, just as Sera stood to go find a snack bar, she caught a flash of face from the corner of her eye and stopped. It couldn't be… She had not seen him in years. Many, many years in fact.

She could hardly remember… Actually, no, she remembered every detail and day she had spent with that man, because it had been the best time of her life. With renewed vigor, she trotted through the crowd to the other side of the room.

_ It can't be, it can't be, it just can't be…_

Finally, she pushed past one last person and was a mere few feet away from one of her oldest and best friends. He had aged, and changed, but he was still there. Still that padawan and boy she had known, talking softly to another guard, a clone.

Obi-wan Kenobi, hidden in the shadows, face dead serious and eyes set almost permanently into saddened, bitter exhaustion.

But the same azure eyes remained, handsome brow, light, curly locks and was that a _beard_? Goodness, he was copying Qui-gon now, of all things.

Sera felt something like girlish, childish delight blossom in her chest, but she pushed it down. She didn't even know this man anymore, it had been over twenty years, he might have- probably had- drastically changed.

He might be the opposite person from the man she knew, the one who could understand her as much as she understood him.

She strayed forward anyway, her heart thumping in her ears. Her legs itched to run and her arms ached to grab and strangle him in a hug.

He had not noticed her yet, merely stood there, still talking to the clone as his eyes, surrounded by dark circles, swiveled to and fro, searching.

Then he caught sight of her, and his eyebrows shot up in an expression she automatically recognized as him being surprised. Those color-changing things he called his eyes had not changed either.

She gave him no smile, instead started walking again, slowly, calmly, as if she were merely another curious person on their way to meet a legendary Jedi master for the first time.

Obi-wan stared at her, not with wariness or distrust, but merely curiosity and surprise. It had been a long time, but not long enough. Obi-wan raised a hand to the clone, who was still speaking.

The clone silenced at once, looking at Obi-wan with respect glinting in his brown eyes. Obi-wan said something, not taking his eyes off her, and the clone nodded before casting her a suspicious glance and walking off.

She stopped in front of him, shoulders back and eyes searching. Obi-wan studied her with the air of a scholar. Silently, they sized each other up, studying and thinking.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Still a pompous, arrogant, compassionate Jedi?" She asked casually. Obi-wan shrugged and glanced her up and down.

"Still an over-confident, bombastic, selfless royal guard?" Obi-wan replied in the same tone. That broke the barrier, both of them smiled at each other. His a weary half smile and hers a full yet knowing grin.

"Its so good to see you, my old friend," Obi-wan said softly as he stepped forward. His eyes spoke for him. He was thrilled to see her, and had the same hope as she, that they were still the same old friends they had been as children.

"You have so many more secrets in your eyes," she agreed, taking the hand he offered her and squeezing. He understood the remark and grinned. "You want to know all of them, don't you?" He tempted.

She rolled her eyes. "You have changed as well," he observed, taking her by the elbows gently, as if to make sure she were real. "Drastically. You want to know all I've been doing, don't you?" She teased. He smiled, and this time it was more real. "Desperately," he snorted sarcastically.

Yep, he was still Obi-wan.

She grinned and gestured to the table in front of them. "Shall we sit?" She asked. Obi-wan's eyes flicked from her to the rest of the ballroom, and then hardened.

He remembered where and who he was here. "Everyone has forgotten you for now, Jedi master," she told him.

"They're all occupied with Master Skywalker," for some reason, he grinned when she said that. "Oh, Anakin will like that, I'm sure," he chuckled. She shrugged. He shook his head with a chuckle.

"Come sit with me then, old friend," he used the force to pull out a seat. "And you can tell me all that has happened over these past several years."

* * *

**_Later:_**

It was nearly midnight when the dancing began. But all of that had vanished. The party had dissipated into some odd noise in the background as they spoke.

That had always happened, when they went into depth about things. But now the music was too loud for them to ignore, and the women casting glances at Obi-wan were unmistakable.

Sera sighed and leaned back in her seat, facing her friend. Obi-wan's back was to the party, but she knew he was well aware of all that had been happening.

He sighed, when the musicians dialed their instruments so loud that it was impossible to think beyond it. She shook her head. No one would be dancing with her.

Obi-wan, though… "Have you many admirers?" She asked, half teasingly. Obi-wan glanced at her. "Too many," he groaned.

She grinned. "You're a handsome man," she told him. He shrugged; appearance was not the first priority on Obi-wan's list usually, though he always managed somehow to look truly_ dashing_. A style which she knew he described as 'presentable.'

"If this is the curse for being handsome, I'd much rather be hideous," she knew he meant it. "You enjoy being handsome," she reminded him.

He flashed her an impish grin, but did not deny it. "It doesn't help my ego, but yes. And you enjoy being beautiful," well, of course she did.

She gestured to the senators waiting. A dance floor had already been cleared, and people were gathering around in a giant clump, waiting out their turns.

"Say that to one of them. The Republic will find so many new allies that it won't know what to do," she chuckled."False allies, you mean, as if we don't have enough," Obi-wan wrinkled his nose.

Then smiled. "Ah, I see Anakin has found a partner. Let's see if I taught him anything," he said. Sera looked over in the direction he was, and saw Jedi general Anakin Skywalker in tight embrace with Padme Amidala.

They seemed oblivious to the crowd that was forming around them as they twirled and spun on the dance floor, as weightless and graceful as if they were dancing on air.

She cocked her head, studying the man who used to be Obi-wan's apprentice. There was a glint of admiration in his azure eyes, though only a friendly smile remained on his face. That glint meant more than Sera suspected anyone knew.

The Senator, also, had the same glint in her eye. A diplomatic, charming grin had frozen her features, but the mark of disguise was gone. She had her eyes locked unto the Jedi's face, which was just a_ little_ too close to hers.

She glanced around, but the faces of the others senators, princes and kings merely showed admiration or jealousy.

"They're obvious," she groaned, glancing at Obi-wan, hoping he wasn't in denial. He nodded remorsefully. "He's just like Qui-gon," he sighed. She cringed and shook her head.

"Master Kenobi?" Oh, yes, here it came. Obi-wan gave her a 'well, isn't that a surprise?' look before standing to greet his partner. "Queen Ayn," he greeted in his diplomatic voice that she recognized.

The queen smiled and offered him her hand, her eyes expectant, as if it would be a supreme honor for him to dance with her.

"Would you like to dance? Show these younglings how its done?" She was but a youngling herself, easily seven years younger than them.

"Nothing would give me greater joy," Obi-wan lied smoothly. His accent was used to his advantage, luring her in.

Sera held back laughter as the queen grinned and swept Obi-wan away. Her eyes roamed around, looking for a potential partner herself. The catch in the music caught her eye though; she looked up and saw what had made the musician stumble.

Her eyebrows shot up. Once, Obi-wan had been a horrible dancer, but now he had already conquered the dance-floor.

Anakin and Padme, having been wise and retreated the second Obi-wan came out, now watched as a few dancers couples trickled unto the dance floor, intending to out-do the Jedi.

It did not work.

Sera watched as, with exquisite polish, poise and elegance Obi-wan lead the way around the other partners. True, she could easily tell he was bored, but he _glowed. _

The bright lights that shined unto the dance floor caught him in a spell of romantic haziness, stealing Sera's breath away. He seemed to skim through the air like a bird of prey, agile, efficient and fierce, but still lightly and gentle.

The queen looked frustrated as his moves spun in time with the music, spinning her faster and faster. Her low-cut dress and sparkling make-up may have trapped eyes before, but now all pupils were entranced on Obi-wan.

His brushed, slicked curls glowed light auburn, like the golden-orange leaves of fresh autumn. His beard reflected the light in tiny curls.

His stout, muscular body was as fluid and hovering as a feather floating in the atmosphere, suspended but falling. His lightsaber, clipped to his belt, was like a lantern in the ballroom, glimmering with every color of the rainbow as they spun around the other dancers.

_He's magic_, she thought, watching his face. It was calm, a mask that you could not penetrate. Yet it literally smoldered with youthful beauty, wise purpose, loving care, and childish determination.

The beautiful soul inside of him seemed to have come out and rested on his face. She smiled gently and shook her head, suddenly wishing she were the queen, tucked safely within his arms and transparent to the world.

He looked so confident, as if he held the entire universe in his hands and intended to nurture it back into health with his touch.

She sighed contentedly, and watched him. How qui-gon would have been proud of his student. "He's quite the good dancer, isn't he?" She looked up to see the prince sipping a cup of wine as he watched the spectacle.

She grinned. "That is General Kenobi, the Jedi who helped me save your mother when she was young," she told him. His eyebrows shot up.

"Well, isn't that a coincidence," his eyebrows then furrowed. "Do you think he'll escape the…?" He trailed off, but his meaning was clear. Sera's heart skipped a beat. Would Obi-wan get out in time to escape the bomb?

"I don't know," she admitted softly, and her gut clenched at the idea of him not getting out. Of him not surviving to dance another day.

She groaned inwardly, half in relief and half in disappointed worry when the dance ended and the two partners bowed to each other.

She sighed again and glanced at the prince, who was studying Obi-wan frankly. "What?" She teased. "Would you like to ask him to dance, too, my prince?" She asked. Her charge gave her a wry smile.

"I don't think he'd decline. And heck, if he can teach me how to dance like that, my loss of pride will have been worth it," he snorted. "Cheers to that," she muttered, suddenly having a dire urge to ask him to dance with _her_.

Again, Obi-wan would not decline it, but still, it was highly inappropriate for this setting. The Prince would be ridiculed for weeks. Serra leaned back in her chair, accepting her role with ease, as she had always done.

She and Obi-wan were friends, _true friends_, and that mattered more than getting a dance with the man. She would find a way to sneak into his room sooner or later and bug him about his dancing then.

She smiled at the thought, and her belly filled with excited butterflies, making the rest of the dancing for the night bearable.

* * *

**_Later still:_**

"Don't. Say. A. Word," Obi-wan warned as he walked up, his eyes heavy with fatigue and boredom both. Sera cocked an eyebrow, but her expression changed not. "About what?" She asked, feigning innocence.

Obi-wan did not fall for her gambit, his eyes narrowed. _Well,_ Sera thought. _Since he's expecting it, can't leave the good man waiting._

"The fact that you have so many admirers that the greatest hot-shots of the universe would tear out their hair in jealousy?" She wondered.

Obi-wan groaned as Sera laughed softly and looked around. The politician's, after several hours of dancing, talking and socializing, were returning to their suites. She frowned. She had not set the bombs yet.

"What about the banquet?' She asked Obi-wan as she stood. Obi-wan blinked. "This early in the morning?" He scoffed.

"No, the great leaders of society need their beauty rest after all," his tone was laced with sarcasm as he rolled grand azure eyes. Sera understood his bitterness, they had both been disappointed by the supposed effectiveness of government.

"The banquet will be held tomorrow night," Obi-wan finished. "What?" Sera asked, taken aback. "How long do these things last?" Obi-wan gave her an odd look. "Haven't you ever been to one of things, Sera? It lasts several days," he retorted coolly.

Sera sighed, another few days _here_? With _these_ people?

_With Obi-wan?_

She shook her head and looked around at the now very empty courtroom. "So I'll see you tomorrow night then," she said. Obi-wan nodded and stroked his beard.

Sera watched the bristles with curiosity. He looked older with the beard, yet it also complimented the stern wisdom in his eyes. He looked good, arrogant whelp that he was.

Suddenly, she remembered the bombs. She still had a few days to plant them. More days to keep Obi-wan alive. She gulped, banishing all of those thoughts instantly.

"You most certainly will," Obi-wan glanced around suspiciously, as if suspecting the clean up droids of treason and spying.

Sera realized that they well could be spies, programmed to do just this. The media would_ adore_ a new scoop on the great _Negotiator_ and some security guard, late at night, alone in the ballroom… She clucked at such scandalous frivolity and glanced at the doorway. Obi-wan smiled and nodded, following her.

"Be careful here, Sera," Obi-wan advised softly as they vanished into the shadows of the likely abandoned halls. His tone was casual, yet she noticed the tenseness of his shoulders.

"There are so many conspiracies going on around this universe nowadays that anyone-_everyone_-usually turns out to be a spy. Your prince is looking for a wife?" She nodded, listening to his advice. "There will be competition," of course.

Sera nodded, understanding the stakes women would go to for power. Her own mother had been that way. A little poison, maybe some chlorine in the wine, and there goes competitor number one…

And all the better if you remove the prince's beloved guard and send him headfirst into grief. Men were undeniably easy to manipulate when in grief.

"I will heed your advice, my friend. Thank you," she said softly, glancing over her shoulder. Obi-wan chuckled and stopped, his face melting back into fondness. "I see you have gotten no less clever, Sera. You'll be the one highlight of this mission," he admitted.

Sera grinned; he had always been humble in the end. Though pride still rankled the severe Master, modesty was a trait that came naturally with practice. And Sera knew that Qui-gon had given him much practice.

"You'll be the one highlight of this week," she said, not one to let herself be out-done by a mere_ Jedi_. "Until the night, then, old friend," then she turned and swerved into the darkness.

* * *

**_The next evening:_**

"Sera! Come on, Sera, wake up," The prince said again, once more hitting her with his pillow.

Sera groaned and reached up, intending to rip her attacker's ear off, the punishment for disrespecting a lady, and her blasted beauty sleep.

Another time popped into her head, of another boy, younger than the prince back then, who had hit her with a grubby, insect infested pillow_. "Guardswoman! Sera, wake up, force blast you!"_ Obi-wan, only him.

Somehow, she had liked it back then. "What, your _majesty_?" She grumbled into her pillow. "We must prepare for the ball!" The prince continued, not ceasing his technique of hitting her relentlessly with his thrice-accursed pillow.

"Why? What ball? Isn't it only dawn?" Sera demanded. Despite the training of her father, she had never learned the wonderful art of being an early-bird.

"No," The Prince chuckled. "It's almost six o clock in the evening. You have half an hour. Get up," six o clock? Pure rubbish. She had gone to sleep all of ten minutes ago. Sera groaned and, in her new mission of finding out what time it _really_ was, raised her head to peer at the clock.

It was six o clock in the thrice accursed evening.

_"_Beeda bodda bo _beeda!"_ She cursed, instantly catapulting herself from bed. She jogged into the fresher' and began working feverishly to prepare the intricate nap's that was called her hair.

Behind her, the prince laughed. "You have got to learn to wake up earlier," he told her. She glanced back at him with irritation. "Are_ you_ ready, youngling?" She demanded. "And waiting," The Prince replied, leaning against her doorway with an amused smirk.

Anyone looking in at them now would refuse to believe that this was the identical male who had prearranged for her to place bombs the other night.

Bombs that she still had yet to plant, bombs she did not _want_ to plant. Sera put down her brush, satisfied with the straight almost gold locks that glistened at her from the mirror.

"Get out," she ordered, giving her monarch a push. "I need to take a shower. You could have had the decency to wake me sooner," she said.

"I thought you'd like to sleep in, since you came back late last night. What were you doing, anyway? Talking to your Jedi?" He asked as she pushed past him to grab an armful of clothes.

"I was a few minutes late, merely. And yes, I was with Obi-wan, why?" She asked. The prince grinned and crossed his arms. "Oh, so it's _Obi-wan _now, is it?" He asked.

Sera turned around and stuck her tongue out at him. He replied with the same gesture with a laugh. Sera waltzed into the fresher and closed the door. The Prince kept talking though, his voice muffled as she undressed.

"Suppose you wear a dress tonight, Sera?" He asked. She guffawed. "A dress? What in the blazes for? You know I hate dresses," she demanded.

He chuckled softly, the sound making her heart warm. She always loved to hear him laugh. "Why else do women wear dresses? To impress men!" He confirmed.

Sera turned on the water, making sure it was the correct temperature of burning. It was the only way she would wake up fully.

"And what man would I wish to impress, noble knight?" She wondered, using the nickname he had deemed worthy at the age of eight. She could almost see the blush on his cheeks the nickname brought out.

"Don't call me that," he muttered. She chuckled and stepped into the fresher, letting the water run down her back.

She shivered as the liquid burned her skin so much that eventually the burn turned into an icy chill. She sucked in the fog of moist evaporation and stretched.

"Anyway._ Your_ noble knight Kenobi. I saw you looking at him dance," he teased.

"Everyone was watching him dance," She pointed out, tipping her head back to let the water flow through her hair.

"You especially, then. All the same, we could pass you off as my aunt, you know. Wear a nice dress, maybe some makeup and jewelry…" Her stomach formed a pit of disgust.

"I'm a guard, a warrior, an intelligent person, not a princess," she snorted, revolted at the very notion of her becoming what she so infinitely she was _not_. The Prince clucked. "So rude, so rude, Sera. I'm wounded," he yawned and smacked his lips.

"All the same, that's the only way you'll get to converse with him freely. Maybe get some information to take back to Count Dooku," he said casually.

Sera stopped, staring down at the foamy soap that she had been spreading unto her legs. The scalding heat of the water pressed into her back and trickled around to drip off her stomach.

"You would have me _use_ Obi-wan?" She asked expressionlessly. "We're in prime positions too, you know," The Prince reminded her reasonably, not at all bothered with the aspect of using another sentient being to his own personal advantages.

"I see he trusts you, Sera. Don't go being too nosy; because Jedi aren't stupid," he counseled her, as if she had no clue at all what Jedi were and weren't when her best friend was one. He had inherited some of his mother's haughtiness.

"But get something. The location of a base. Troop movements-" she cut him off. "Did I not mention that this Jedi you are speaking of helped save your own mother?" she demanded sharply. The Prince ceased suddenly, surprised by her tone. Sera huffed and went back to soaping off her legs.

There was a tense silence before The Prince finally came up with: "You care for this Jedi," she said nothing. "They can't have attachments, you know. He cannot feel anything for you," oh, no, he did not know Obi-wan.

Jedi could feel, it was inevitable, they just chose to bury those feelings. Sometimes, Obi-wan let those feelings rise, and when he did, Sera noticed, she saw and understood, because she buried her own.

She saw the few times he decided to be a man, instead of a Jedi.

"Friendship is good enough," she replied calmly, finished with her washing. "Good enough to guarantee that he won't arrest you, should he find out about our plans?" For the second time that day, a hard knot of ice formed in her gut. She swallowed hard, and discovered that the swallow hurt her chest.

She refused to think of such things.

Shaking her head, she began to dawn her guards out-fit. "What do you want, prince?" She asked coldly. "The safety of my people," he replied honestly.

"And we need that Jedi to guarantee it. Would you rather doom us all or save the feelings of your Jedi friend?" He asked her.

Sera sighed. Between them and Obi-wan? She would rather doom them all to the Separatists. If it would save Obi-wan the pain of betrayal, let the planet and its inhabitants rot.

But that was _wrong_, and she loved her planet, and her people. They did not deserve slavery, and the betrayal that was the Republic, The_ Jedi_, leaving them to slavery. If they did not save themselves, if_ Sera_ did not save them, no one else would.

Not even Obi-wan.

She moaned and looked down at her guard's patch. _"By the glory of Zonz, God of protection, I hereby pledge to protect the royalty, the people and government of my planet, or die in the attempt,"_ she had sworn this at barely six years old. Her birthright, her life revolved around protecting them. She could not give that up.

Not even for Obi-wan.

Sera sighed and cursing quietly, stuck her hand out of the door. "Hand me the thrice accursed dress," she grumbled.

* * *

**_Later:_**

_ I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!_

Was the only and very simple thought running through her mind as Sera walked around in ridiculously high heels. The rest of the flowing garment polled around her ankles.

Sera let out a small growl and glared at The Prince, beside her. He was grinning impishly, the traitor, as he abandoned her to find his dance partner.

The ball had been happening for little more than three hours, and yet Sera had notonce_ seen_ Obi_-_wan Kenobi. That was half a blessing, for both parties included.

Though, Sera's heart still seared with disappointment. She had wanted to see Obi-wan, more than she would also have cared to admit.

"What in the blazes are you_ wearing_?" Ah, it was never hard to locate a Jedi master when one gave it a good shot.

She turned around and grinned at her friend, immensely happy to see him. Obi-wan, though, was staring at her with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. She chuckled and felt suddenly self-conscious of her bare shoulders under his gaze.

The dress wasn't all that bad, certainly more modest than what the other women were wearing. It was a very dark scarlet, and framed itself around her body in satin folds. On her arms were see-through sleeves, gorgeous and revealing her virgin innocence.

A small crown rested on her head, shining red also in the pure golden hair, which tumbled down her shoulders. A lavender necklace rained down across her exposed neck and collarbone, twinkling a thousand different colors in the light.

But she still hated it.

"It's called a _dress_. And stop gaping, it's unseemly," she scolded. Obi-wan closed his mouth and composed himself; sudden humor glittering in his eyes. "Have you become a queen suddenly?" he wondered.

Sera gave him her worst death glare. "Not even to save your life," She growled. "It was the prince's idea, thank you. He thinks that my being in a dress will drive the ladies mad with jealousy. Apparently I'm supposed to be his aunt now," she rolled her eyes.

"And if his so-called-suitors cannot compete with my beauty, then are they worthy to be his bride?" Or, at least that was the excuse she had fabricated.

Moreover, she hated herself for spending time coming up with a lie to tell Obi-wan.

Unfortunately, the Jedi master was well versed in just such situations, exactly as she had calculated. He nodded understandingly. "You look nothing like him, but I've seen stranger things in my life," he agreed.

His eyes swept over her and he obviously could not contain the grin of glee he cast her then. "Don't say it," she warned.

He looked up at her, feigning innocence. "Why, whatever do you mean?" he asked. She glared and Obi-wan laughed. He glance behind him at the dance floor.

"Since you're currently posing as a queen…?" his unspoken request went into the air. She grinned and raised a hand. "Of course I'll teach you how to dance, old friend," she accepted.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "We'll see," he answered smoothly as he grabbed her hand and they swept unto the dance floor. Sera stiffened when Obi-wan put a gentle arm around her waist, unaccustomed to the touch.

"Relax, old woman," Obi-wan teased, a hands breadth way from her ear. Somehow, the jest did relax her. This wasn't the romantic, mushy part where he would sweep her away into love and deceit, no; this was _them_. They were friends, nothing more yet.

She mock glared as the music began and she followed his steps as they swirled around the others. She felt curious eyes and whispering around them.

Obi-wan smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling with playfulness. "You're making my admirers jealous," he said softly.

Sera grinned back. "Let them be," her hand clenched on his shoulder, playing with the fabric there. "It was impervious that I teach you how to dance. You were disgracing the Order," she informed him.

Obi-wan sighed. "Does the word conceited ring a bell to you?" he inquired. "The word who now?" She countered confusedly. "I suppose not," Obi-wan sighed again, ruefully admiring.

Sera smirked and let her eyes wonder. Another couple passed them by, grinning impishly.

"Having fun, master?" Anakin called as Padme gave a polite nod to which Sera returned. Obi-wan did not answer, instead merely winked at his former apprentice. Whatever the gesture meant, it made Anakin laugh as they skimmed away.

Sera giggled; content. "He has much left to learn," Obi-wan murmured fondly. Sera smoothed the fabric she had mussed down again. "So do we; master Jedi," Sera pointed out mysteriously.

Obi-wan dipped his head in meager agreement. "I suppose that's true as well," he glanced up; "From a certain point of view," he added.

Sera nodded and looked around at the eyes following them. Suddenly, the rush of power and control she supposed all monarchs carried rushed through her.

She, a mere, meager security guard, was dancing in an exquisite dress, wrapped safely in the arms of a Jedi master. They were surrounded by dozens of other dancers, even another Jedi, yet she knew that the real attention was on them.

The musicians were watching their feet to see which way the music would sway. If she wanted, she could stumble and the whole ball would rush to her aid over a blasted ankle twist.

She could pick a new partner, but still the entire talk of tonight would be centered on her and her dress, her hair, her dancing skills, what she ate, who she was, _her_. All her.

Sera gulped, feeling the exhilaration of sweet power flutter her heart. Was this feeling bad? She knew it could be constituted as a sort of greed, but gods, it felt so_ good_.

"Remember who you are, Sera," Obi-wan said softly, his eyes roaming the dance floor as the music picked up its pace. She looked up at him, knowing that he had sensed he feelings.

Shame flitted through her. "It doesn't feel evil," she confessed softly. Obi-wan nodded slowly.

"I know," he said at last. "But remember, you really aren't a queen. These people care not a molecule about you or your life; you are a tool of measly gossip and admiration. Nothing more," that made the power vanish.

He was right. This wasn't who she was. This was a mask she had put on for the night, and she had no good reason to be proud f it, or feel any emotion over it. She was a guard, and the day that her loyalty and devotion as a guard granted her power, then she could rejoice in the feeling, but for now, she was a mere tool for gossip, nothing less and nothing more.

"Thank you," she whispered with an acknowledging nod. Obi-wan grinned. "Do not thank me. I only told you the answer, you took the time to understand it yourself," he said, as usual determined to teach her something.

She did not mind; he was a natural teacher, and besides; Obi-wan was generally a very good source of information.

"Shall we give these younglings a good source of gossip?" She dared lowly. Obi-wan snorted, accepting the challenge. "Are you up to it? I know you aren't used to heels," he cast her feet a pointed look.

Sera gave him an odd look, insulted. "Watch me move faster than you," she said. Obi-wan grinned. "You're on," he dared. And suddenly, Sera was spinning.

She dug her nails into Obi-wan's arm and shoulder, not keen on the notion of letting him spin her out of his way. She jerked him backward.

If he wanted to play that way, then who was she to stop him? But they would play dirty _together._ As the peacekeepers, teachers and friends they were.

He didn't have to be alone anymore. Not with her.

She expanded her energy and centered herself. Suddenly, she could feel strength flowing throughout her body, twisting her hips and feet.

The brain in her head had nothing to do but listen to the swing of music and the command of her heart, thumping in her chest. Obi-wan moved with her.

Suddenly, her mind became an open space; she felt sudden piercing joy and strength enter in. Her nose flared with the scent of Obi-wan, and her thoughts became his thoughts, her body his own.

_ Let me in?_ He requested, filling the open, empty field inside of her with his sweet voice.

_ You'll find it horrifying,_ she teased, somehow perfectly fine with him in her mind, within easy access to her memories and failings. She trusted him in the most precious gift she had ever been given. Her mind.

His amusement was her amusement. She spun out of the safety of his arms, hand tucked into his snugly, but came rebounding back just as quickly. She felt the dress flap and flare around her ankles.

Before her eyes, memories swept through. She saw all the years of hardships her friend had lived through. The women he had loved. The men he had seen die. The betrayal he had been through. The master he had lost and the apprentice he had gained.

And she recognized that he trusted her with his mind just as easily. She sighed and bore his stress and burdens, his pain and righteous determination. She felt her fingers slide over his ear, where once a padawan braid had been tucked. Now it was gone, replaced by years of wisdom and knowledge.

She opened her own mind up to him, hiding nothing.

Except for the bombs. That plan, she hid, despite her shame. Obi-wan did not push or intrude. There were some things she was sure he kept from her.

He saw her own life glint before him as their bodies moved, the prince she had raised. The father she had seen killed in a bombing. He heard her sobs and also saw her laughter.

She let him into the darkest tucked secrets of her heart and did not regret it. She let him have her burdens and snatched his own from under his nose.

For that moment, simply; they were _one_.

Then his plan became her plan. The other couples had already started trying to out-match the pair, twisting and turning in every attempt to make their way between Obi-wan, her and the rest of the crowd.

Fine with them, she decided. She glanced at the large curtain flowing down from the ceiling. Obi-wan knew that behind that curtain was a secret door that led into the hallways of the palace. They could ditch this place.

_ Ready? _He asked. _Past ready,_ she assured him.

Obi-wan nodded, and with perfect grace, Sera saw only a blur of the bright lights of the ball, before Obi-wan had cascaded her behind the curtain and into the darkness of the door. She heard a abrupt click and long, hushed creak before she dashed through the door and into the palace.

Obi-wan was behind her as suddenly, Sera was staring at the long hall in front of her, painted in silvers and blues. Windows adorned each side of the passage, thus moonlight spilled into the corridor in large rectangles.

Sera let out a breath of relief. All was silent. The sounds of the ball, on the other side of the wall, had vanished.

"Cody found the door," Obi-wan explained from behind her. She turned to see him leaning against the old wooden door, studying her thoughtfully.

She nodded and stretched. Then remembered that there was no one but her and Obi-wan here.

With much enthusiasm, she kicked both heels off her feet. "Take_ that_!" She growled as they went flying off, only to be stopped in mid-air.

The power of the force sent a jolt down her spine, until she realized it was Obi-wan's power she was feeling.

"Taking your anger out on shoes?" Obi-wan admonished, lowering the appendages into her reluctant arms. She flexed her toes and gave a sigh of relief. "How vulgar. I thought you were beyond such barbarism," he said. "Nope," Sera snorted.

Obi-wan chuckled and shook his head. "I know you won't like this, but you do look lovely in that dress, Sera," he stated neutrally.

Sera looked down at herself; and felt a hot flush creep unto her cheeks. He thought she looked lovely? "Oh…Well…I…" She gulped and rubbed her arm, suddenly tingling. Obi-wan chuckled softly and came forward. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Relax. Being beautiful is not a crime. Not unless that is what you make it into," he assured her. Sera smiled, barely consoled, and nodded. "I like the beard," she reflected, changing the topic. "It brings out the wisdom and kindness in your eyes, but you still look older with it. Too old," she scolded him.

"War does that to a man, I'm afraid," Obi-wan breathed sorrowfully. "You ceased to be a man after Jabiim. You are now a Jedi, through and through. The blood of the force's own runs through you, Obi-wan. Make no mistake, war cannot touch you if you don't let it," Sera cautioned.

Obi-wan laughed bitterly. "You have not been in a war, Sera," he reminded her, with a touch of sharpness to his words. Sera relinquished the fight. She knew when defeat was the better option.

"Enough about war," she commanded crisply. "Talk to me about something else. The man you've raised," she suggested.

At the mention of Anakin, Obi-wan's eyes lit up in a way only proud parents eyes could light up. "He is Qui-gon all over again," Obi-wan began proudly.

"Defiant, bold, humorous, charismatic, arrogant, passionate, but unsure. He is young yet. We hoped to wean him out of his attachment with a Padawan," Obi-wan sighed. "We were ignorant of how closely Anakin can attach himself. I fear when the day comes, he will not let her go," he lamented.

"Attachment is against the code, Obi-wan," Sera reminded him diplomatically. "But your Jedi way does not forbid love," she told him. Obi-wan looked down at her, surprised at this new notion.

"What's the difference, really? Both involve desire, possession, protectiveness," he named off, his azure eyes flashing with thoughtful excitement. He loved a good debate. "Yes," agreed Sera.

"But attachment is when you cannot let go of the person for selfish reasons. Because you yourself cannot stand to lose them, not because you think their life is important. Love is the opposite. You love that person for them, not what they give you. You know what I mean, after Siri, do you not?"

At the dead woman's name, Obi-wan looked away, tears in his eyes. Sera did not look up, but merely put an arm on his and nodded somberly.

"Do not blame yourself," She muttered. "I failed her," Obi-wan whispered, his face an emotionless mask, yet his voice dripped with the burdens of a love lost.

Pain was something, that no matter what the Jedi thought; did not go away fully. Pain was impossible to release, the same way the teachings given to you could never be truly lost, only forgotten.

Pain could never truly be lost, merely forgotten for a time. Sera looked ahead, at the rays of light filtering into the corridor. Suddenly she shivered with something that had little to do with cold.

"Are you still fighting for justice and peace?" She inquired. Obi-wan did not answer. He stopped, standing there as if he had misplaced the ability to move in his mind. Sera turned, and saw him staring at her, his eyes dull and haggard in the moonlight.

Hatred, pain, remorse, sorrow, and envy stirred in their depths. "Am I?" he echoed softly, expressionless. She crossed her arms. "To my knowledge," she confirmed.

Slowly, Obi-wan smiled, and Sera shuddered more violently this time. Instead of a Jedi, she was all of a sudden looking at just another Count Dooku, with his chilling smile and calculating eyes. She saw what Obi-wan saw everyday in the mirror.

Someone who could have been-could still be- a monster.

"You are not him as of yet," she whispered. "As of _yet,"_ Obi-wan replied callously. Sera sighed and looked down.

"Sometimes I think as you do," she admitted. "I think of the spies I've been forced to kill, some even torture," she felt shame twist her insides as Obi-wan's eyes grew wide

"I think of the blaster I carry on my hip most times," her hand brushed against the place where her utility belt hung most times. "And I feel the power of what I can do. I realize it. I respect it. I _fear_ it, too. But mostly, I fear myself," she shrugged.

"Because who is to say one day I won't be able to take it?" She asked herself. "One day I might decide I don't wish to do this anymore. Decide who lives and dies. Greater men have fallen to dementia before me. Greater will fall after," she stared at the marbled floors, and suddenly, the moonlight was red. Red as blood.

The blood _she_ had the ability, the _justification_, to spill. Her life was justification enough.

Her insides crawled. "The one thing I fear the most-the thing I would die to prevent-" she blinked. "Is being labeled a traitor with the rest of them," but she was a traitor.

She was betraying Obi-wan. Her best friend; the only person alive who she would ever admit this too.

Despite what she told him now, she was a traitor, and her doom was to be dubbed as such with the rest of them. She deserved it. She deserved death, and she hoped that it would be Obi-wan who would do it.

"My friend," the spell broke. Sera looked up into kind, compassionate eyes that stared into her very soul with affection.

Obi-wan put a hand on her shoulder. "You have spoken my heart and plainly laid it out in front of me. I just don't think I've ever had anyone do it so… Forgivingly," he said softly.

She cocked an eyebrow. "What is there to forgive?" She demanded. He shrugged and shook his head with a sigh. "I know not. Only that I could never tell anyone what you just told me. They wouldn't understand. You do. Thank you," he concluded.

Sera raised an eyebrow. "If _that _was your heart, then you're a droll, insecure, and pessimistic person, Obi-wan Kenobi." He laughed. Sera smiled.

The moonlight turned to bluish-white again, as brightly lit as the spark of hope that kindled between them at that moment.

Obi-wan bowed his head. "So be it. It means only that we are one and the same," he countered. Sera nodded, feeling a long put out and sheltered fire rise within her. She hated that it rose so quickly, without more than a scarce few days to think about it or even contradict it.

But love was not something that took lifetimes to grow. Instead, it merely took seconds to solidify.

In that moment, despite training and the obvious after affects of more pain this tension would create, Sera only grinned like a mad fool and laughed.

In the end, Sera just laughed at the pain.

* * *

**_The next morning:_**

"Stop! Stop it at once, Obi-wan! Don't tell me anymore!" Sera laughed as she held her sides, aching with mirth, and covered her mouth to hold back the snorts of insistent giggling.

Obi-wan, in front of her at the Sabbacc table, smiled down at the board, deciding which move he would make next while he waited patiently for her giggles to subside.

"Generally, Qui-gon did not find it at all that funny," he observed, tactfully switching his piece to a new position. Sera reigned in her hilarity with difficulty.

"You're a fool," she gasped, leaning back in her seat. The dress around her itched outrageously, but she hardly noticed, having been enraptured by Obi-wan's tale of idiotic heroics.

"You manipulated the _council_?" She asked again, deciding against her earlier comment and thinking that he actually should go on.

"I did not manipulate them," Obi-wan muttered, watching her every move as she deposited her own piece contradictory to his.

His eyebrows shot up, impressed. Sera crossed her arms and placed her elbows on the edge of the table, watching him steadily. She was impressed as well. He used to be a complete dolt at this game. Now he was a champion master. She supposed Qui-gon was in due to that.

It was early in the morning. The dance, having gone on without further incident the night before, had ended again in the fresh rays of dawn.

The senators and everyone castle wise, was asleep in due to this. Obi-wan had not the slightest clue where Anakin had went too, but then again, that only helped their cause.

Sera had not gone back to her and the prince's apartments. She doubted her charge had noticed. Instead, she had fallen asleep on the ground with Obi-wan, they having spent a good majority of the night studying star charts and war-strategies. Somehow, war seemed more peaceful with Obi-wan.

It also made it seem more cruel.

Nevertheless, momentarily the two were enjoying old memories and playing Sabbacc. "Qui-gon failed to understand my negotiating skills. And it was for his own good," Obi-wan told her.

"So you used the leverage you had with the council to convince them to send you on the mission, despite the fact that Qui-gon had already told you that he didn't want to go," She finished.

Obi-wan shrugged nonchalantly and glanced up. "My friend was missing. What else did he expect me to do? I had to save Garen," he mumbled. "Perfect Jedi," Sera snorted doubtfully, admiring the man before her.

"I think not. You were a terrible Padawan," she scolded him cheerfully. Obi-wan nodded. "Horrendous," he agreed. "Did the council ever find out about what you did?" She asked.

Obi-wan grunted comically. "I expect they knew perfectly what I had done. That did nothing to dissuade them from a chance at getting under the skin of the reckless Qui-gon Jinn. Besides, Master Yoda and Windu liked me," he told her philosophically.

Sera grunted in amusement, but she, too, had been liked by the queen more than by her own mother. Then again, she had raised the queen, and her mother had raised _her,_ which had been no easy task.

"Old memories are a blessing. I win," she informed him, smugly. Obi-wan looked down at the playing table again, and his mouth dropped with indignant shock, he probably had not been defeated in years, the arrogant beast.

Despite his loss, however, Obi-wan only grinned. Sera watched him; she knew that grin. "Hay!" She squawked as she noticed her piece mysteriously moving by some cosmic offense.

"No, you don't," despite her sharp protests, though, the pieces only continued to move until they were in a position where Sera had been ultimately, totally and irrevocably beaten, _hard_.

"You chosski!"she accused, springing to her feet. Obi-wan only chuckled and sat back, his arm crossed and eyes twinkling with smug satisfaction. "I won," he said merely.

Sera only snarled in reply. "Lying and cheating, shameful. Aren't both things against your beloved code? Don't they both lead to the Dark Side?" She demanded crossly. "I shall go down a winner," Obi-wan agreed flamboyantly.

"And a cheat," Sera added, crossing her arms as she glared down at him. Obi-wan met her gaze steadily moment. Then, as abruptly as the moving pieces, his expression changed to soft guilt. "Alright, fine, officially you win. By proof, though…" her stern glare silenced him. Obi-wan threw up his hands.

"You win, Sera, fine! I concede," he mumbled. Sera grinned; she had known that would work. It always did, with Obi-wan.

Guilt was the one thing separating him from a normal politician. That and his lack of greed. She laughed and walked around to put her hands on his shoulders. Obi-wan sighed.

"Stubborn gundark. Defeat is a sign of modesty learned," she chuckled. Obi-wan smiled lopsidedly. "Oh, really? Then I am the most modest man in this universe," he considered. "From a certain point of view," she ran a finger down the back of his neck, tickling.

Obi-wan shivered and sat up. "Stop it, Sera. I'm serious. Don't look at me like that," ineffectually, he tried to wiggle away from her firm grip without losing his dignity. Sera tightened her grip on his shoulders.

"How did Qui-gon try to teach you humility?" she asked, recounting. He saw the memory in her head and, forgetting composure, leaped to his feet, facing her suspiciously.

Sera jumped across the table, but Obi-wan was too fast. With Jedi quickness and practice, he grabbed her about the waist with one hand and suddenly her arm was pinned behind her back.

She swerved with the pull and came out face to face with him. She grabbed his other arm, putting them in a difficult stalemate. 'What?' She asked innocently when Obi-wan glared at her.

She grinned at hi sheepishly when suddenly a hard foot wound itself around hers and pulled her off her feet.

Sera gasped as she toppled backward. She landed on the floor, and suddenly found her arms pinned down by strong hands while two knees dug themselves into her sides.

"Hello there," Obi-wan said pleasantly. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance. Have we met before?" Sera put in, just as cheerily, as she hooked her foot around his waist and yanked him off her.

After all, her training had included self-defense and as a warrior herself, she knew quite a bit beyond this. Obi-wan himself had once taught her self-defense, off the Jedi morals and techniques.

"I don't believe so," Obi-wan huffed as she got under him, reaching up, she curved her arms through his from behind, placing them back to back. He pushed back, trying to force her to her back, but she put her knees up and refused to be budged.

"I've never met a woman who has lasted this long in a straight hand to hand combat with me," he told her. She nodded and braced her weight against his, trying to flip him over her shoulder, but he balanced his weight with hers, thus keeping them level.

"I was taught by a good warrior," she gasped as he attempted to pull her over his shoulder. Due to the fact, that, he weighed more than her; she could not balance their weight and thus she went over his shoulder.

She twisted in the air, landing crouched in front of him. She tensed, prepared for the next attack, but suddenly, completely disarming her, Obi-wan craned forward and boldly kissed her right on the mouth.

She stiffened, jolted out of defensive position, and a second later, landed flat on her back, winded and in the same position as before.

A drop of sweat ran down Obi-wan's forehead and unto her face. The victorious Jedi master grinned down at her, his eyes teasing.

"You…You…You kissed me!" Sera gasped in a squeak. The said kiss had left her breathless as an hours long fight. "A theory," Obi-wan told her, sounding amused at her indignant yet slightly winded tone.

"Qui-gon did always tease me about the talent I had with ladies," he informed her. Her mouth dropped.

"You blasted bastard!" she wiggled furiously in his grip. Obi-wan only chuckled. "Relax, old friend. It was a jest meant to disarm you," he assured her. Sera did not fall for it.

He knew Obi-wan's motives. He had wanted to feel her lips against his, to know love for the first time in his life, to love someone and be a man for the first time in his life. He had just picked a completely convenient time to do so, and dryly appropriate, too.

And more importantly, the thrice accursed man had _beaten_ her! Unbelievable!

"Unfair play! Cheat!" She accused. "We never established the rules," Obi-wan reminded her logically. "The rules of gentlemen, you idiot! You always let the lady win, no matter the stakes!" She protested, her mind ringing pleasantly after the kiss.

"That's what you're so upset about?" Obi-wan demanded, cocking an eyebrow. "That you lost?" he asked. "What else? Get off me, and let me get at you!" She ordered.

Obi-wan laughed this time. "I don't think so," he answered. "I knew perfectly well what you intend to do to me once I let you up. Promise that you won't tickle me?" he requested.

"By the seven Sith…" He shushed her. "You'll wake someone with that language," Obi-wan pacified her, chuckling.

"Promise me, Sera?" he regarded her with barely disguised playfulness. "Or shall I convince you the hard way?" he wondered. Sera huffed and silently glared.

"I thought so. Do we have a deal?" Sera nodded, still glaring. He was a blasted chosski! Though, from this view, his eyes were like pools of dark blue water, from the great waterfalls of…

Blast _him_!

Obi-wan seemed to have heard her thoughts. He blushed lightly and got off her, standing to extend a hand up. Sera took it…and pulled herself onto his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and hanging onto his neck.

"Sera!" Obi-wan let out a small grunt as she yanked his head backward by his cleanly, thick hair. Obi-wan opened his mouth to demand what she was doing, but before he could, Sera decided to exact her revenge.

She kissed him back, right on the lips. Obi-wan's response died on his lips she kissed him thoroughly. Completely distracted, Obi-wan did not seem to notice when at first ten nimble fingers slid across his jaw until she hit his vulnerable throat.

She felt the laugh before she heard it. "Stop, Sera!" Obi-wan gasped, his hands flying to trap her own fingers around his throat.

"Blast you, Sera! Stop it this instant! Don't!" he hissed as he stumbled backward, instinctive solution being to get away from her. Not taking into account was the fact that she was on his back and thus stuck to him.

_ The body was often slow to adapt so these sort of changes,_ Sera mused, having fun. Sera feathered around his collarbone and Obi-wan let out a surprised laugh. "You promised! Sera!" he protested in a childish squeak.

"I nodded. I never promised. Assume nothing," Sera reminded him as they crashed against the bed. Deciding that her point had been proven she jumped off his back, leaving Obi-wan to stare up at the ceiling, sprawled on the small bed with his arms flung out in giggling abandon.

"Blasted…No good… _female_," he hissed, as if it were the worst insult ever committed. Sera shrugged and sat beside him. "You gotta love us," she agreed with a triumphant smile.

"You're a force-forsaken, lying, warmongering…" Before Obi-wan could continue his rant, though, a miraculous occurrence took place.

Into the room walked-or, rather, snuck- Jedi general Anakin Skywalker and Senator Padme Amidala. _Well, we found Anakin_, Sera thought as she noticed the two.

Anakin had Padme by the hand, and was backing into the room, a mischievous smile and twinkling eyes all in place. Padme was letting him lead her, covering her mouth to stifle her giggles.

"And what in the _blazes_ do you two think you're doing?" Obi-wan's sharp voice made Anakin jump and turn around, his face contorted laughingly into that of a small child's who had just been caught at some awful deed.

Padme went pallid, and also jumped, startled. Anakin quickly snatched his hand away.

"Master!" Anakin gasped. "We were just… Wait, who is she?" He demanded, pointing at Sera. Obi-wan gave Anakin a half-lidded glare and crossed his arms.

"I think they were on the verge of wanting some canoodling, Obi-wan," Sera told him, for the befuddled knight and senator. "Wanting some what?" Padme echoed indignantly.

Sera only put her elbows on her knees and grinned. "Never mind," she whistled lowly. Anakin narrowed his eyes at her challengingly. "And where've you been, Anakin Skywalker?" Obi-wan further demanded, as if he were talking to a child.

Anakin met his gaze defiantly and straightened up, as if to intimidate his former master with his added height. "Patrolling, unlike you. I've actually been doing my duty," he declaimed.

"Well, that's a first. And I _congratulate_ you," Obi-wan said wryly. "But I ask again: what exactly were you two doing?" He asked. "Master Kenobi," Padme piped up, her strong voice smooth and leader-like.

_"Oh, this should be good,"_ Sera thought to Obi-wan, smoothing out the wrinkles of her dress, still rumpled and crushed from their romp on the floor.

"I'm sorry if we interrupted something, Master Skywalker was just showing me the living quarters of a Jedi," her eyes glanced plaintively at Sera.

Obi-wan cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, sourly un-amused.

Sera only laughed carelessly. "Did you hear that, Obi-wan?" She asked gleefully. "They're giving _tours_," she emphasized, glancing at him. His eyes met her gaze, and suddenly sparkled before resuming their stern gaze.

"How _cute_," Obi-wan growled. "I remember that excuse," Sera continued, her eyes not straying from the two younglings. "What would Qui-gon have done to you, had you tried that one?" She inquired.

"He would have smacked me upside my arrogant, idiotic head," Obi-wan grunted honestly, his demeanor darkening still. Sera nodded in agreement to this punishment approach.

"I confer. So why is that boy currently un-smacked?" She continued. Anakin bristled. "BOY?" he demanded indignantly. "Because he's a lucky barve," Obi-wan huffed.

Anakin's temper was deflated by Obi-wan's uttered curse. He gaped, Padme along with him.

Sera nodded, understanding. Obi-wan was too nice to hit the boy. "Right. Inquiries finished," she sat up straight, eyeing them both with a firm eye.

Under both sets, the pair started to redden. "Alright. So. Lucky barve and polite little lady," she addressed them blatantly.

Obi-wan sent her a curious but approving glance. Anakin and Padme gawked all the more, shocked by this display of open disregard for their oh- so- important- ranks and oh- so- important achievements. "Just how_ stupid_ do you suppose we are?" Sera wondered coolly. "Because I know, and _he _knows," she jabbed a thumb at Obi-wan.

"That you were doing something that you should not have been doing because all of twenty years ago, we did the exact same thing. Luckily for you, I'm not as blunt and he's not as commonsensical as Qui-gon Jinn. Otherwise, you'd be blushing in embarrassment and lightheaded for weeks after this current event. If you're going to sneak around, at least do it with someeloquence, for force sakes," she scolded, having deliberate fun with this.

Obi-wan picked up from where she had left off.

"Honestly, Anakin, you know that there are spies all throughout these halls, yet you were so eager to get Padme alone you took no heed. What if someone had seen you two frolicking in here? And aren't you _the Chosen one_? Didn't you_ sense_ me in here?" he insisted. "And you," Sera added, swiveling her gaze to Padme Amidala.

"Have you no sense, child? You have the attention of a _Jedi_ _knight._ I would have demanded, no, I would have _required_ that he at least go get me some flowers and/or someone's head before I just let him run off with me. Diplomatic strategy, foolish girl!" She reprimanded.

Padme blushed deeply. "How dare you..." She began. Sera only waved her hand dismissively. "Shut up," she interrupted crisply, to Padme's shock.

"Power, rank, popularity, it doesn't matter here. Nor do all your petty, pretty, rehearsed words. Not around me, because I have no interest in it. If not for us, you'd both be dead, prisoners, or slaves. So silence yourselves and pay some respect to your elders," she commanded.

Anakin stared at Obi-wan. "Master..." he began, outraged. "Don't look at me," Obi-wan told him sternly. "She has a point, Anakin. You two could have been caught. Don't you realize how serious this is?" he asked.

His amusement was bubbling hotly through Sera's body. She had to strain in order to hold back her laughter as well. "What about you and _her_?" Padme demanded, still unfinished, as she pointed to Sera.

"We used the secret door," Sera informed her haughtily. "Like intelligent beings. And there are plenty of other places you could have gone to talk about all your great duties and such," she rolled her eyes pointedly.

"Including anywhere but here. You children nowadays don't have any class, nor sneakiness about you. Has the whole universe gone soft?" she asked them hotly.

"Like oatmeal," Obi-wan added, just as furiously. "Yes," Sera went on passionately. "That's another kriffing thing; you kids have no respect for oatmeal!" She declaimed.

Anakin and Padme, shocked and confused half way out of their wits already, further spluttered and gawked.

"Do you even know what oatmeal _is_?" Obi-wan requested dramatically. "Oats crushed into meal or flakes?" Padme asked weakly. "NO!" Both adults yelled, scandalized.

The two young people jumped, nearly bowling into one another, now purely terrified. "Oh my _gods_, they don't even… Force, Obi-wan did you hear that?!" Sera yelled. Obi-wan, his face grave and disappointed, nodded. "Disgraceful," he scoffed.

"She thought, they don't even... What did you say?" Sera asked again. Padme tried to hide behind Anakin, but the knight, having already lost his remaining bravado, quickly put himself out of her hiding range.

"I don't know," Padme whispered at last, struck dumb underneath their penetrating eyes.

_ I can't keep this up much longer, I'm about to burst,_ Obi-wan cried through the bond. _Me, too, one last thing though_, Sera agreed. "Now she doesn't even know what she said!" Sera gasped in exasperation.

Obi-wan cut sharp, darkened eyes to Anakin, who had already paled under the gaze so much, he had gone ghostly white. "And what do you have to say about it?" He snapped. Anakin stood there, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his pants.

He looked nervously to Padme, who only shook her head, watching him anxiously, and then back at Obi-wan**_. "Well?"_** Obi-wan boomed.

Anakin bit his bottom lip fretfully, frightened to say whatever thing could be deemed wrong, before he squeaked out: "Can you repeat the question…Please?" He inquired. She felt her own laugher bubble over at the same time as Obi-wan's.

The two of them burst out laughing, nearly crying with mirth. Anakin and Padme relaxed, but smiled uneasily, still wary.

"Oh, _force_, I think we out-did Qui-gon," Obi-wan laughed as she bent over, holding her sides. Sera nodded and sat up, wiping at her moist eyes with the back of her palms.

"We so out-did him," she agreed helplessly. Obi-wan sat up and leaned back, still laughing carelessly. At the sound of his hilarity, Anakin relaxed visibly. "So, it was a joke?" He asked timidly.

"A comparison, really," Sera corrected, giggling. "We're sorry, you two," Obi-wan managed to gasp out. "But the temptation was too much, and I'm confident you'll be more careful in the future now," he said.

Sera snorted and nodded. Deciding that manners were in due, she stood and clasped Padme by the hands gently.

"Forgive me mi' lady," she said, still giggling. "It was Obi-wan's idea," she lied. "Don't lie to her, Sera," Obi-wan told her as Anakin came and sat next to him, still a bit shaky.

"Shut up, Jedi!" Sera said over her shoulder, which only made Obi-wan give another harsh chuckle. "Anyway, its good to meet you. My name is Sera. I played the Prince's aunt last night?" She said, striving for politeness past her giggles.

"Oh," Padme said faintly, her color starting to return. "Oh, yes," she clapped a hand to her breast, laughing feebly.

"I remember now. Didn't you two dance last night?" She inquired. "I taught him how to dance, yes," Sera agreed. "Don't flatter yourself, Sera. That crowd was watching _me_," Obi-wan informed her, his laughter having died down. "Pompous disillusioned demon," she shot back, not turning.

"Come sit down, dear, you look ready to faint. I remember the feeling," she chuckled manically as she led Padme into the room and pushed her down beside Anakin.

Obi-wan put a hand on his former apprentice's shoulders. "Oh, Anakin, the look on your face, you looked so pitiful and frightened," he mused.

Anakin shrugged lightly and cleared his throat, attempting to wrestle back his dignity. "Well, you were talking about oatmeal and yelling and you kept asking me questions while I was confused. Then she comes along and starts being rude and calling us unkind things, and you were glaring at me like I did something wrong, and using big words about sex, so I didn't know what to do," he moaned pathetically.

Obi-wan burst into laughter again, laying his head on Anakin's shoulder while his shoulder's shook with soundless laughter. "Sera," he groaned, laughing. "You need to come back to the temple with me and help scare the younglings. Lesson: No more fraternization," he snickered.

"Oh, that'd be a sight," Sera giggled delightedly. "We could ask Yoda to help," she suggested. "Let's not put that image in my mind, please," Obi-wan begged as he sat up, wiping away his amused tear.

"Anyway," Obi-wan continued, his voice relaxed into familiarity. He was always more fun when you had made him laugh.

"Anakin, Padme, this is Sera. She's an old friend of mine. Master Qui-gon and I met her while on a mission to her home planet when I was fifteen. We spent several months running around the galaxy trying to escape our trackers," he explained.

Sera nodded proudly and walked over, kneeling by Anakin and putting a motherly hand on his knee. "Sorry, dearest, I know you've probably never heard Obi-wan yell. It's quite a sight when he's really angry," she chuckled.

"All the same, I congratulate you on surviving the horrible experience that is called Obi-wan. He's a pain, isn't he? I know. He got to Qui-gon too, don't worry. You remind me of the old master, actually," she told him, studying his brilliant blue eyes.

"Oh," Anakin breathed thoughtfully. "Thank you," he still seemed winded.

"One day Qui-gon found us sitting alone on the beach, and gave us almost the exact lecture we just gave you. Though, he used tomatoes instead of oatmeal," Obi-wan explained to them.

"And he bamboozled us into such a high state of confusion that at the end Obi-wan was spluttering in Malvanese and I was just plain scared out of my wits. Dear old Qui-gon got a hoot out of us, though," She shook her head, remembering the boisterous laughter of the Jedi master.

Obi-wan snickered. "One day, we're going to catch Ahsoka in a room with a boy and do this to her," he said to Anakin, whose eyes alighted with the thought.

"Yep," the knight chuckled, shaking his head. "That's going to be _so_ much fun. Force, I can imagine it now. You oughta do that to one of your interns, Padme," he suggested.

The senator looked stricken. "What? I would frighten the poor girls into tears!" she claimed, though her face twisted into a smile.

Sera snorted and stood. "Why not? Little kids are fun to scare. By the way, Obi-wan, I know you got the oatmeal thing from your speech on that one planet," she told him.

Obi-wan grinned. "You remember that, eh? Yes, I got it from that _wonderful_ experience," he snickered. Sera stared at him.

"Wonderful, sure," she scoffed sarcastically. "It was a disaster and you know it," she told him. Obi-wan leaned on his knees and raised an eyebrow at her.

"With us, what isn't a disaster?" He asked. Sera had no choice but to agree with him. She nodded. "Trouble likes me and absolutely adores you. We're special," she added. Obi-wan chuckled softly, his laugh deep and smooth. Sera had to smile when she heard it.

It was alike thunder for her, comforting in the dark of night. Thunder meant that the world was going on, it meant that the universe could not end now because it was still doing the things it had been doing for millions of years.

There was hope for the future. The future would still be there, war, drought, betrayal or not. Life would persevere.

"What are you talking about?" Anakin wondered. Sera looked to the youngest in the room, then back at Obi-wan. "Think we can keep control long enough to tell the whole story?" She asked him, already knowing his answer, because she understood.

She understood him and knew his heart because it was his own. His heart was the words that popped brazenly out of her mouth; and her heart were the feelings he kept bottled inside. They were each other.

They were _one._ And she loved him for understanding, in a way that was forbidden.

"We won't make it past two sentences," Obi-wan said, his own eyes twinkling. Sera nodded supportively and walked over, crawling behind Obi-wan sloppily.

The Jedi glanced at her, Anakin and Padme with shock that Obi-wan let her as she started picking and running her hands through his hair. Sera ignored their stares and Obi-wan did not seem to notice.

He was happy here, with her and the memories of peace and childhood, there was such a joy in her heart because of this that she knew his glee had become her delight.

"I'll start," she decided as he gave her permission to start in her mind. "Now, it all began when Qui-gon and this fool here arrived on planet, pledged to protecting the infant princess against terroists. Of course, I was fifteen back then, and tasked with guarding the royal family…"

* * *

**_Later:_**

"No way!" Anakin gasped, laughing. Padme, as well, was red in the face with her amusement, hand curled around her stomach as she leaned against Anakin across from then.

Obi-wan and Sera were on the other side. Sera had long abandoned all hope of indiscretion and now had her head in Obi-wan's lap, staring up at the ceiling as she laughed. Obi-wan had, again, not seemed to notice or did not care.

He leaned against the wall, which some poor engineer had found fit to situate the bed inside. Anakin, was also sitting likewise, but Padme was only leaning against her noble knight.

For now, titles and ranks had been forgotten. They were Jedi or fighters no more. Only people, telling each other stories of times long ago in the solitude evening provided.

"You got into a fight with him?" Anakin leaned forward, delighted with Obi-wan's tale of heroics, danger and lawbreaking.

The elder Jedi shrugged nonchalantly. "Of course I did," he answered. Sera rolled her eyes. "Of course he did," she added knowingly.

"And what was worse was that while this poor boy was trying to strike Obi-wan, he didn't lift a finger. He just ducked and weaved in between the punches, all the while, telling Blaem what sort of hopeless mongrel he was in intelligent terms. The poor child had no clue what Obi-wan was saying," she sighed.

Padme smirked. "Words beat punches," she agreed enthusiastically. Obi-wan nodded approvingly. "No, they don't," Anakin snorted, wisely. "I second that notion," Sera agreed.

Anakin gave her a childish grin, as if he had finally found a friend to agree with him and his point of view. Sera snickered.

"I won," Obi-wan pointed out. "That's because you used the force to make Blaem hit himself in the nose!" Sera admonished.

Anakin shook his head. "Imbecile should have known better than to fight a Jedi," he grunted casually as Padme gaped at Obi-wan with indignance at the harsh display of his power. "_Thank you_, Anakin," Obi-wan agreed heartily.

"Sadistic warmongers," Sera sighed, leaning back. Padme shook her head and copied Sera's gesture, the two women now identical in stature. _"Jedi,"_ she hissed exasperatingly, as if it were a curse. "Jedi," Sera agreed.

Obi-wan and Anakin narrowed their eyes in exact precise unison. "Clueless mortals," Obi-wan countered.

Anakin huffed, blowing out one of the long bangs in front of his face and put his hands behind his head, crossing his ankles.

"_Females,"_ he told Obi-wan with a dull, rueful smile. Obi-wan folded his arms and crossed his ankles. "Females," Obi-wan agreed, nodding somberly.

"Youch! " Both then yelped as said females rammed identical elbows into both sets of ribs. "You know what…?" Sera began, well into her outrage as Padme also began her lecture.

Suddenly, interrupting her, Padme glanced at the clock. "Blast!" She hissed, jumping. "It's almost six o clock in the evening!" She gasped. "What?" Sera demanded, disbelieving. "No it isn't…" All sets of eyes shot to the clock.

It was six o clock in the thrice accursed evening.

_"_Beeda bodda bo _beeda!"_ Obi-wan and Sera cursed in union as they hopped out of the bed, rigid with shock.

_ "Boshooda!"_ Padme and Anakin spat in unison, mildly panicked, also leaping from their places. Then all four looked at each other. Then all four laughed.

_ "_Force blast, we've got to get ready," Anakin grumbled, glancing at Obi-wan. "It's the dinner tonight," Obi-wan nodded somberly. "More dancing," he groaned. Sera shivered in sympathy. "More _dresses_," Padme added distantly.

Sera shuddered violently and gulped. "Can't we just stay in here and tell them we died?" She queried. Obi-wan flashed her a grin. "How would we die, Sera? We haven't been doing anything," he pointed out, then went pale.

"Blast it, I was supposed to be working, too! This is what happens when I run into people like you. The whole universe gets out of procedure," he scolded, as if it truly were all her fault.

"If the whole universe stayed in procedure long enough, we'd all be _you,_ Obi-wan, and even you would find yourself annoying after awhile," Sera reminded him.

"Me? Obi-wan?" Anakin trembled, eyes wide with horror. "Of force, don't even _think_ of it. Come on, Padme, I'll escort you back to your room," Anakin said, offering the senator his arm. She slung her own through it.

"Flowers and chocolates, you have to have requirements," Sera teased. Anakin rolled his eyes while Padme giggled. Obi-wan put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll remember that. This was a most," Padme raised her eyebrows. "Er, um, _educational _day, Master Kenobi," oh, they were back to that, Huh? Those old titles and annoying claims?

Eventually, though, the world had to get back into procedure.

Likewise, Obi-wan's face melted over with polite friendliness. "I hope you both learned well," he replied evenly, glancing pointedly at Anakin, who smirked. Sera pulled herself out of Obi-wan's touch.

"I should get going, too. The Prince is probably wondering where in the universe I've gone. He won't stop the interrogations until we return home, at least," she sighed.

"Be brave," Obi-wan sympathized, patting her shoulder comfortingly. Sera smiled at him. "I'll see you later, then, Obi-wan," she agreed. He nodded.

"Until tonight," he agreed. Sera only laughed at his formal speech as she followed Anakin and Padme outside. "He's an ass," she said cheerfully, quietly. "But a good man," she told them.

Anakin nodded, and glanced at Padme. "Yes. Here, go on without me Senator. I'd like a word with Sera," he said softly.

Padme gave him a surprised look, but shrugged. She smiled at Sera, curtsied to Anakin before journeying on alone. Sera watched Anakin expectantly.

He waited until Padme was out of hearing range before he stated frankly; "You make him happy," she caught on immediately to who he was addressing. "I like to try," she agreed, cautiously.

Anakin crossed his arms, and suddenly his severe face softened.

"Thank you," he said softly, gratefully. "He hasn't been the same since this war began, you know. He's a peace-lover, and seeing so much death…It really has affected him, even more since Darth Maul came back," he told her, forlornly.

Sera nodded somberly, yes, she had not brought that up. Those wounds were too deep for Obi-wan to face now.

"That's why they sent us on this mission," Anakin continued. He looked away, and clenched his jaw angrily.

"Some rumors have been flying around the temple, saying that Obi-wan actually helped_ orchestrate_ Qui-gon's death, or that he was in league with the Sith," Sera gasped.

They had been saying_ what_ about her Obi-wan? The most devoted, trusting, loyal Padawan who had ever graced the halls of that blasted temple?

"He would never!" She squeaked indignantly. Anakin glanced around before nodding. "Yah. I know. That really hit him hard….I haven't seen him smile in months. So…Thank you, Sera, for helping my master," he looked back down at her with a shy smile.

Sera grinned. And here sat in front of her the second most loyal, devoted, trusting Padawan who had ever graced the temple's halls. Like father, like son. No matter the blood between them.

"He's proud of you, Anakin." She whispered. "You have to know that. He spent two hours overweening about you, his chest puffed out like a rooster's," Anakin's eyes gleamed.

"Really?" He asked, too excitedly for the lie to sneak through. He cared about what Obi-wan thought of him, he really did. And Sera knew that Obi-wan loved Anakin like a brother.

She nodded. Suddenly, she remembered that this was the last night of the dance. She would have to set the bombs tonight.

Tonight, it all ended. She could kill this man-boy-child-Jedi.

Either way, she was going to break Obi-wan's heart.

"Anakin," her own heart was breaking, as she forced herself to say the rest. "No matter what he tells you or what happens, promise me-" she took his shoulder in her hand gripping it tightly.

"_Promise me,_ that you will take care of him," she demanded. Anakin's eyes fluttered, astounded by the fierceness of her tone, but he nodded. "I will," he agreed quickly. Sera nodded again, hitching up the dress around her ankles and walked away.

Tonight, it all ended.

* * *

Midnight:

The flames behind her danced and leaped across the floor of the glass balcony, providing dark shards of ginger and golden light. The air stung sharply at her with heat, as if it were publicly blaming her for its sizzling wrath.

Flames billowed into the night sky, hissing from the crackles of dying fabric and exploding flame. The bombs had all been set off, but the destruction remained.

Sera ran away from the screams. Blast, there was still screaming! People trapped inside. She itched to go back and help them out, but she had a deadline. The Prince was awaiting her, he would soon come around with their escape, and they would make it off-planet together.

Their mission was done. Sera had set the bombs, gathered information from the unknowing Jedi, and saved her planet from the Separatist's enslaving hand.

Despite all this, however, Sera was crying as she ran to the edge of the balcony and leaned over, searching frantically for The Prince. Where was he? She needed him there now!

The Jedi were behind her.

And not even her cloak, which covered her face, could hide her force signature from Obi-wan. Oh, _Obi-wan_.

Sera let several more drops fall from her eyes as she turned around, facing the burning castle. The entire building was a large tower of shooting, blazing flames. Glass and wood, marble and fabric, all gone. Hundreds of people-innocent people-killed.

And she had murdered them all.

Sera felt hot vomit slither up her throat as the smoke made her cough and the self-disgust made her gag. Hurry, prince! She urged mentally as she saw two shadows running front the doors she had just come out of and unto the balcony, trapping her.

Sera recognized the bright vertical lines of pure energy shining through the night. There was nothing the Jedi could do about the fire, not now, but they could catch the perpetrator.

Sera did not care. She deserved prison-no, she deserved _death_-for the things she had done. If it were only Anakin, she would give herself away willingly. But it wasn't, which was cruel. It was Obi-wan, too, the man she loved.

The man she had betrayed.

It was probably cowardice, not, it was_ worse_ than cowardice, but Sera would give anything-anything- not to see the shock and pain on Obi-wan's face when he saw who it was who had betrayed him. Her pain, she could handle, but his pain…

"Stop!" That was Anakin, his voice a command as Sera looked down, contemplating how long it would take her, exactly, to die if she jumped off the edge of the balcony to the garden fifty feet below.

"You're surrounded, just surrender yourself, traitor," The young Jedi hissed, hatred lilting his tone. She had betrayed him, too. Obi-wan was next to him.

Sera could feel his eyes digging into her back. She gripped the rail with trembling hands. _Oh, Zonz, why? Why him? _She wondered, closing her eyes to stop the flow of tears.

"Turn around," Sera looked up at the sky, praying for the prince. Where was he? "Helps not coming from up there," Anakin told her smugly.

Sera only smiled and shook her head. "You have a lot to learn, Anakin," she said softly, but loud enough to where both men heard. She imagined both men went pale.

_ "S-Sera?"_ Obi-wan gasped, his voice trembling. She turned then, and lowered her hood. Indeed, both faces had gone ashen. Sera felt another tear trickle down her face.

Anakin was gawking at her, slowly shaking his head, as if to rid himself of a dream. Obi-wan only stared, his very expression the face of disbelief.

"It was my mission," she told them sadly, leaning heavily against the balcony railing. She looked past Anakin at Obi-wan, locked unto his eyes. Anakin recovered quicker than his master, though.

"You were a spy, the entire time?" His eyes narrowed and flashed dangerously with fury. "I'm ashamed I didn't take your head, the minute I laid eyes on you," he growled.

Sera blinked, waited for Obi-wan's reply. It did not come until Anakin took a step forward, looking very much like he wanted to take her head off himself now. "Wait, Anakin," Obi-wan said, quickly, almost groggily, as if he had just woken up.

He extended a hand, laying it across Anakin's chest to keep him back. Anakin stared at him angrily, but after a moment, his eyes softened and he nodded. Obi-wan did not take his eyes from hers.

Sera's heart was pounding in her chest. She felt her chin tremble. "Why?" Obi-wan asked, at last, his voice without the slightest hint of remorse. She knew better. She could see it his eyes.

"My people," she whispered. "We couldn't stay neutral any longer. We know what Count Dooku does to planets who do not appease him. The Republic is losing this war, Obi-wan. I…" Her voice cracked, her heart lost courage. "I'm sorry," she said at last.

"You're sorry?" Anakin's hands clenched tightly. "Padme was in there! Padme got_ hurt_! And all you have to say is you're _sorry_?" He lunged for her, lightsaber flashing so quickly the last thing Sera expected to see was the final blur of individual shades of blue in his strike…

But the blow never fell. Instead, Anakin did, flat on his face.

Sera gawped at the limp form of Anakin Skywalker lying flat in front of her feet. Obi-wan knelt by his friend, putting a gentle hand on his back to pull out the anesthetic dart.

"I always tell him to watch his surroundings," Obi-wan mumbled, clucking his tongue as he took the dart out and peered at the empty tip with interest. "Even If _I'm _behind him. After all, he knows I carry these around with me. I never expected to use them on him, though," Obi-wan looked up, and studied her thoughtfully.

"Then again, this is what happens when I run into people like you. The whole universe gets out of procedure, and in more than one way," he stood, still holding the dart. Anakin snored softly beneath them.

Sera had never been more terrified in her life.

She gripped at her chest, afraid that her heart might stop. In the firelight, he was beautiful. In destruction, betrayal and anguish, he was still _beautiful_. And she, the guardswoman, was a monster.

"Why?" She choked out, shaking her head slowly. They both knew he should have let Anakin kill her. It was Obi-wan's duty as a Jedi. It was his right, his blasted responsibility. She would have received the death sentence anyway. He knew that.

Maybe that was why he had done it.

"He'll forgive me," Obi-wan told her, carelessly pocketing the tiny missile. "In a few months. Even then, he'll never let me live this down. I won't ever let myself live this down, either, but," he shrugged, helpless as she had ever seen him.

"I suppose I'm a fool, for always doing horrible things for love," he sighed.

Sera's entire vision blurred. She wiped away the tears angrily, the breath in her lungs coming out as sobbing breaths. "Jedi are not allowed to love," she reminded him. Obi-wan chuckled humorlessly.

"No," he agreed, powering down his lightsaber. He replaced it on his belt, seemingly desperate for something to do.

"They're not. But the whole 'perfect Jedi' thing was a mere stereotype, anyway," he told her, with a bitter, menacing smile.

"War propaganda, some should like to think. I strive for proficiency, not perfection; somehow, I get the opposite. Thus, these things," he waved at the background of fire and death.

"Happen to me daily, it seems. The universe just doesn't know it," Sera sucked in a slow breath, leaning back as if Obi-wan were going to strike her.

"I didn't want to do it," she appealed to him, desperately, to understand, like he always had understood.

Obi-wan cocked his head, sickly embittered. "Ah, yes, the old gamble. But Sera, do you think it matters to those people in there," he pointed to the castle.

"To the Republic, Padme, Anakin, or…Or even _me_, if you didn't want to do it? You still did it. In the end," he shook his head.

"I didn't want too!" Sera screamed. Why didn't he understand? They were one; they were the same. She spoke his heart aloud, why couldn't he understand?

Because they were no longer one.

Obi-wan turned his head away. Sera saw the tear roll down his cheek. "You used me. You used me like a common spy, like a politician, like everyone uses me," Obi-wan nudged Anakin in the side with his foot, gently.

"Even Anakin. I…I thought you were different, that because you understood… You wouldn't use me. I'm used to it, of course, but…" Obi-wan shook his head and his fists clenched with sudden rage.

"But Sera, I _loved_ you. I trusted you. I would have fallen to your feet as a slave, if you had asked. Now…Now I see. I am good for nothing else," she covered her mouth and let out a sob, shaking her head.

Her hair fell into her face. Sera reached forward, weakly. Her bones seemed to be heavy weights and her skin had melted away into plastic.

"Obi-wan…" She trailed of, unable to say anything more. Obi-wan stared at her, his entire form trembling with either rage or anguish.

"Sera!" Suddenly, the air behind them disturbed her hair, making it flap and flutter in the wind. The Prince was in the hover car, so close to her that it sent a brush of wind against Obi-wan's face. He cringed as if the air had hurt him.

Sera wanted to stop breathing.

"There's your ride," Obi-wan spat, the rage in his chest concealed through shuddering, rapid breaths. "Go ahead, Sera. Run. I won't stop you," his voice was burning with hatred and begging both.

Sera, in the most vile act of cowardice and betrayal she had ever committed, turned around and gripped the Prince's outstretched hand.

He pulled her inside quickly. Sera looked out the side at the place where Obi-wan had been a moment ago, but he was gone, him and Anakin both.

There would be no final last words, no tearful goodbye, no out-break of rage or slash of death and justice. Duty had been forgotten, and titles, friends and good men had been burned and devoured. All because of her.

In the end, love led to pain.

Sera leaned back, letting her head fall against the seat as the Prince took off, saying nothing. There was nothing left to say. Not one word for the deed they had just committed. The deaths and blood signed in their names, with the royal stamp on the paper.

"Dooku will be pleased," The Prince reminded her, softly. Sera turned her head away as the burning castle disappeared behind them, and the warm mists of the other thousands of hover cars and vehicles joined in theirs.

They were fugitives among mortals, and no one knew their crime. There wasn't even any police droids who had come to help the obviously smoldering castle.

Obi-wan was truly alone. Sera had left him there.

"It was for our motherland, Sera. It's only survival," The Prince whispered, trying in vain, but with much gusto and conviction, to justify murder and betrayal. Sera had been alive long enough to know there was no reason, no justification that was enough.

"Survival," she echoed. Sera sounded far away in her ears. As if she were hearing herself speak from the end of a long tunnel.

"Yes, survival," he was a fool. A blasted fool; and Sera knew it. They were all fools. Cowardly, stupid fools. How could she have hurt someone-something- so _beautiful_ and pure?

Then walked away, without so much as a goodbye?

They had been _one_.

Now she wasn't even a half. There was no her. No survival. No life.

Sera looked down at the mass of streaming cars and hover vehicles below her, extending hundreds and thousands of feet, dizzying with lights and noise. Too much noise.

Then she looked back at the castle, a mere orange dot now, with black overhang.

"Don't look back," The Prince ordered, sharply. _I'm tired of taking orders,_ Sera gripped the edge, full aware of the end of her decision, yet she didn't care.

Obi-wan had taken the easy part. Letting her go was easy. Living with the knowledge of betrayal and sacrifice was hard. Too hard. Sera did not want to survive anymore. Not without Obi-wan.

She gripped the edge of the hover-car, not even hearing the Prince's nervous chattering. Let him live with this anguish. She could not bear it. Gasping, Sera hurled herself from the edge before The Prince next to her could speak a word.

She heard a thousand screams as she fell past cars and hit bumpers, engines, hulls and people on her way down.

Eventually, though, she hit her head, and heard no sound at all, her ears were numb. Then ,she closed her eyes, waiting for another hit.

Her last thought, despite all, was not hers at all, but rather Obi-wan's, sending it to her through the last fragment of the bond they once shared.

_ "I understand, though, Sera. I forgive you, my love,"_ and with that one sentence, she realized she _could_ have lived after all. She had only thrown away the gift Obi-wan gave her.

But by that time, something hit her head again, it all went dark, and Sera knew no more love, or regret, or anguish, or pain. She only felt the binds of eternity.

* * *

A little flick I decided to write in honor of Valentine's Day. At first, Sera wasn't meant to actually die, that was a last minute detail, but it worked out in my favor. So? How was it? Did it make you cry?


	5. Chapter 5

After thirty odd something years, one would think that I would have learned every trick the Jedi have up their long and sinuous robes by now.

I would know what will make them tick, groan and possibly scream. Beg, well, I have achieved the status of begging but three times since I began bounty hunting.

People-people in the right places and with the right kriffing clearance; will pay high, _very high_ money to know some of the things each Jedi is given to know specifically.

That is my job. Catch the Jedi. Grill em till they give up the information. Leave them inside some deep, dark hole where they might be found sooner or later…Or might not be.

Either way, I'm always long gone before anyone can ever catch me. In all actuality, I'm one of the Republic's most wanted men. Why, I simply cannot fathom. After all, I'm a perfectly amiable guy, very charming in my opinion. Better than some of those politicians the Jedi work for. At least I know how to speak _the truth_.

The truth of the matter, momentarily; is that I am having a very hard time grilling these blasted Jedi morons. What_ are_ they, super Jedi? My boss needs the information they have-the locations of the hiding royals so that the rebellion stirring can kidnap em' and kill them, or something-and I do not have it.

Blast, I have to hand it to them. They are one kriffing good team. I have already injected them with poison, had them whipped half to death, frozen, cooked, and who knows what else the droid had smelt up. They are both battered, bruised, beaten and thoroughly exhausted, I can tell.

And yet, neither have considered to make my life easier and break already. Some Jedi compassion they have, breaking their own blasted code for the sake of pride, I'd wager.

Not even the Padawan will tattle. And from my knowledge, the Padawan is merely fifteen. I mean, I have met some tough Padawan's, stars above, I've met some _tough_ Padawans, but this kid has not skin but iron covering him.

I, Adder (that's my name, you see?) asked him if he were ready to tell me anything, a few days back. Heck, at that point I would have accepted false coordinates,_ anything_ to give back to the boss… But the kid only looked up, spat at my brand new shoes, despite writhing on the ground with poison, and told me, in very vulgar terms, where _exactly_ I could stuff my beautiful head and me poxed ideas.

Really is a prodigy, brings pride and honor to his Order. Shame that I have to kill him, probably. I might have carted the boy around as a slave or something. I tried that with about two of the younger Padawan's.

Ultimately, for some reason, they had committed suicide instead of staying in my wholesome company. A shame that, as well, they had been pretty girls. Not too talkative, but pretty.

Despite the strength of the Padawan, the master is just as enduring. He hasn't even screamed yet! The fifteen year old has writhed, gasped and cried out in pain, but his master remains stoically silent. He endures the torture with the same patience as one would endure a very ignorant child. With sympathy mixed with irritation.

His eyes, too. Those are strange. A few times, when they are deep into the torture, a Jedi's eyes will turn yellow. I had been gifted with a dislocated arm after Master Windu went yellow eyed on me, the barve. This man, though, stares with serene blue eyes, black and puffed up as they are.

Something in his gaze whispers sympathy, understanding, wisdom and reconciliation, yet laced with those are, naturally, the deep undercurrents of hate, rage, loathing, revenge. If only I can get that part out. Get the man desperate enough, or the kid, whichever would crack faster.

Maybe if I use some other sort of abuse. Physical obviously is not working. Mental, then? But how? Jedi are masters of mental control.

I put my chin in me palm, remembering a saying my ol da used to say. It went something along the lines of: _"Son, you have a twisted head."_ yes, that was it. Endearing, those words.

Twisted. I would have to be twisted….Protection. Wasn't a master tasked, _oath-bound_, to protect his student, at any cost? I have not given the man much choice, notably. I had ordered the Jedi separated and placed in different cells at different ends of the base. They have not seen each other in the three weeks they have been here.

Now, isn't it my duty, my _oath _(Huh, see my play on words, there? Clever fellow, ain't I?) to break that vow for the Jedi master? Perhaps then, and only then, the fool will crack.

* * *

**_Later:_**

"Good morning, Master Jinn," I chirp, with a friendly wave at him. After all, no reason why we can't be civil. The Jedi is around my age, after all. We could have grown up together had he not been born a Jedi.

Chained to the wall as he is, I can understand when he doesn't wave back, and smiling, well, it _is _rather cold in here, the metal cell where I keep him, so I can forgive that too.

Expectantly, he says nothing. He has not spoken more than six words to me since arriving, unlike his brat. And those six words were: _"You are making a big mistake."_

Can you believe that? And the Jedi like to strut around preaching about understanding and kindness and peace and nonsense. One of their Jedi masters threatened me. Can't you sue these people, or something, for saying stuff like that?

Oh, never mind. I can't sue anybody, I'm a wanted man. Oh, well.

He stares at me with eyes like little pieces of pond water, reflecting my own cheery face in their orbs, tinged with exhausted defiance. He eyes me suspiciously, and I smile.

"Listen here, Jedi, all I want is the information. Just some coordinates. Two numbers, how hard can it be? You break your vow of silence and I let you and the tadpole go. How does that sound?" Almost eerily, he shakes his head, slowly, still staring at me with unblinking eyes. He could scare anyone with those eyes. So intense and supernatural.

His caramel colored hair, gosh, he has some_ long_ hair, dips over his face lightly, and suddenly he looks like a deranged man. I clench my teeth. I will not be intimidated by my own prisoner. He is probably doing it on purpose.

"Alright then. I can respect that. Although, you look like a rather_ wise_ man, Master Jinn. You know that every decision has a consequence. I'm afraid that I must teach that lesson again now," I do not turn, but instead step out of the way, allowing the bodyguards into this cell.

They are lugging in between them a limp body, naked, starved, bruised, bloody and unconscious between them. At the sight of his Padawan, the Jedi Master's eyes glint, just the tiniest bit, mind you, but it is enough.

I smile. "Obi-wan," finally, his vow of silence is broken, and the Jedi Master whispers the name of his apprentice as the boy is dropped, face first, a mere foot away from his master.

I lean forward and nudge him with my toe, wondering if perhaps he has died overnight. A startled grunt of pain accompanies my kick, revealing my answer. I look down at the fine lines of the Padawan's mass, and grin wider. For a fifteen year old, he has a nice body.

"Hello sunshine," I halloo. He doesn't even bother to raise his head, rude child, but instead mumbles something about my lack of hobbies and my urgent_ need_ for a new one.

"He has a sharp tongue," I tell his friend, matter of factly. "And he has been using it to his full advantage the past two weeks. Aren't Jedi supposed to be respectful?" I demand.

Jinn says nothing, big surprise there, right? Only continues to stare down at his apprentice, arms yanking experimentally at the chains about his wrists, tethering him to the back wall. He cannot use the force, and he is as battered as his apprentice.

He is not going anywhere; I already made sure of that. "Now," I reiterate, for the sake of mercy. See there? Perfectly amiable. Merely misunderstood.

"Do you have anything to say?" I ask. "Release him immediately," well; he said something. Not what I wanted, per se, but something. He does not look up at me as he says it though. His eyes are glued to the whip-cuts that blueprint his protégés back.

"I'm sorry, Master Jedi. I can't do that. My employer would be most unhappy," taking the whip from my belly, I flip the handle pointedly in my hands, casual yet dangerous. Mam always did say that actions speak louder than words.

"Will this get ugly?" I inquire. "Or would you like to stop all further bloodshed now?" I ask. He looks up now, and I see that a wall is set in front of his eyes. They are bland and detached, like a careless and unknowing drunkard's.

His expression is a blend of placid pacifism. Very good control, Master Jinn, the universe _applauds_ you for being heartless and unmovable."You will not win," you gundark, just tell me the kriffing coordinates!

"As you wish," the long chord of thin and sizzling whip slithers out with the hiss of an adder. (Oh, _another_ pun, I'm just on a roll today!) and I flick it back expertly. I cock an eyebrow at him, but he is only watching me passively. Okay, then. Let us see what makes you tick, Jedi.

I swing the whip down, and the Padawan jerks with a muffled gasp. Qui-gon responds with a blink. Fine, two more slashes; this time intertwining. A grunt from the apprentice. "Would _you_ like to tell me, boy?" I ask him. Only fair, after all. "Kriff you!" He answers.

I cast a reproving glance at Master Jinn. "You see this? _That_ is exactly what I was talking about. Disrespectful," grinding my teeth, I assault his back viciously. Each blow that falls, though, exacts only a harsh grunt.

Master reserved and distant only watches without emotion, as if this were a very boring sitcom his girlfriend had convinced him to sit down and watch; and he were promptly falling asleep.

Fine, he wanted a sitcom, I'd give him one.

I take out a small vial from my pocket, and pour the contents unto the bloody mass of flesh. The crackle of sodium chloride in the exposed wounds of a human being are _nothing _compared to the grisly scream the boy lets out. His fists clench and he arches his back helplessly.

The Jedi Master does not even cringe as his apprentice lays on the ground, gasping. I reach over with my foot delicately and press down, allocating the salt evenly to the other wounds with a tad of pressure. Gasping, choking and crying out every so often, the Jedi child thrashes violently, struggling to get away.

"Come now, Obi-wan, don't be such a poor sport," I scold. This time, he has no witty comeback. About time. "I wonder if I ought to get a stick," I consider quietly, thinking that the crimson of blood looks rather transparent when it is a puddle on someone's bare back.

Finally, my resolution leads me to concur that I will, indeed, need a stick. A very big one, presumably. Obi-wan stops wriggling, I still have my foot pressed firmly down on his back, you see, and the blood has started seeping into my shoes.

Disgusting.

Hurriedly, I snatch my foot away. Sticks work, and…Ooh, snakes work so well. Perhaps putting his arm in a box of scorpions. Yes, that sounds like fun.

Though it has only been a few minutes, I decide to take a break to fetch some snakes. I crouch, and take out the syringe I kept in my back pockets. It will keep the both of them occupied for a while yet.

I inject young Jedi number two in the neck, in one of the largest and barely thumping veins and stand. He groans as the stomach cramps begin. Stomach cramps that will make him groan and clench his entire body and break out in fever.

"Sure you have nothing to say?" I ask the older. "Nothing at all? Not even an insult?" His apprentice was saucier at least, and much more interesting overall, really.

"There are no words to describe this type of cruelty," Qui-gon murmurs, eyes stuck on his apprentice. "Cru-what? And here I thought you Jedi were all philosophers. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" without waiting for my answer, I waltz out.

* * *

**_The Next Day:_**

Hmmm, sleep, good sleep is always so refreshing wouldn't you say? Good for the mind as well as the body. I wonder how the Jedi fared, since I left one to gasp and moan in agony on the floor and the other to watch helplessly all night.

I told the droid to hike up the heat too, you know? Because heat makes the blood start pumping, while cold slows it down? Well, Mr. Torn-bloody-back probably had not appreciated the flowing blood and scalding heat. It must stink like the bloomin blazes in there, too.

Lo and behold, it does stink like the bloomin, _stars above_ blazes. "Ugh!" I gasp as I walk in, and the smell assaults my nostrils. "Blast it, Jedi; what have you been doing in here?" I demand, as the droid staggers in behind me, immune to this stink, lucky him.

Young spicy-tongue is in the exact place I last left him, curled into fetal position, eyes closed as his body shivers in wracking pain.

He is trying to take deep breaths, I can tell, but that's working out for him as well as trying to fly with only balloons tied to your waist. I tried that once, and Da laughed at me when I fell and nearly broke my head open.

Jinn has not moved either. He is leaning his back against the wall, staring at his Padawan with well-hidden worry. But I can see the taut lines of his emotionless face. Why does he do this? Deny all claim to emotions and feelings? Weren't Jedi supposed to_ rely_ on feeling, and yet here he is feeling nothing at all.

I'd have to change this.

I cover my nose and start breathing through my mouth. The stench leaves a pungent taste in my mouth. I wonder, if I spray the boy with air freshener, will it make him smell less like blood, sweat, feces and vomit? Probably not.

"I'd say good morning, but I don't suppose you slept," I murmur, watching Jinn. He slowly turns his head up at me, and emotion flickers in his eyes.

"You will break_ neither_ of us, only yourself," he growls. Whoa, he still has room for defiance in that blasted heart of his? And there we have a bit o philosophy in there, too.

"I think I already broke the boy," I point out. "Though I don't suppose he's in any mood to speak. What do you say to it, lad?" Said lad only groans and curls in tighter, in some discomfort, I'd reckon.

"Yep, I know how it is, brother. Those toxins hurt, huh? No worries, little one, I'll pump them out today. I have other means from which to make you talk," I promise. "The more you hurt him, the greater your punishment will be when we are found," his master tells me, in a low sneer. He appears perfectly calm though.

"I'll make it worthwhile then. VR-11, get on with it!" I instruct in my best 'I am the ultimate ruler' tone. I _love _that tone, usually it strikes fear into the heart of my victims. Though, neither Jinn nor Kenobi seems afraid. Little buggers. VR-11 moves forward and falls to cybernetic kneels beside the Padawan.

The boy whimpers out protest, small and pathetic. The droid continues on, instead merely goes on with his check up. He feels the boy' s pulse, injects him with the chemicals that defeat the pain-wracking toxins in him and other things I do not really care about.

Master Jinn watches with sleepless, unblinking eyes.

"Report," I order when the droid is done. "If continued methods are used, I estimate he has three days to live," comes the truthful, blunt response. The Jedi Master inhales sharply. I nod. "Very well then. If that is their choice. Bring me the supplies," large red coals stare at me, processing the information before the droid exited.

"You would kill a child," Jinn whispers. It is not a question. "Slowly, painfully, yes. Why do you ask?" I inquire cheerily as the droid comes rumbling back in. I take my first weapon of choice and roll it about leisurely.

Obi-wan, cleansed of the elixir, is on his side, holding his stomach while sucking in handfuls of stinking, polluted air desperately. "You might want to be on your back for this," I recommend, stepping forward.

The droid leaves; and the door closes with a dong of benediction. Qui-gon watches me with lifeless eyes. Obi-wan does not heed my warning. I know from experience that this will get ugly if he is not on his back; I step over and roll him with my foot.

The second his back touches the cold and bloodstained metal ground beneath him, he lets out a broken scream as his eyes snap open. I assume the cuts on his back are not healed yet. Pity, that.

Now, this ball I am sure you are wondering about in my hand, it isn't really _just _a ball. It's a tiny machine thing I got on Tatooine. They're _fond_ of punishments there, you could say. This machine is tiny enough to fit inside a small hole and then at the touch of any sort of wetness, starts it's designated work. Does a very fine job, too.

"Say ah," I coon as I pick apart Obi-wan's lips and stuff the ball inside. Unable to breathe otherwise, the boy stupidly swallows it. I step back a way. I have seen this before, used it before, and in a few minutes, this is going to get unsightly.

Obi-wan remains on his back, gasping still, unaware that currently, the ball is unrolling into a tiny tiger inside of his belly. In a moment, it will begin shredding.

Obi-wan frowns as his stomach gives a violent jerk, not very painful yet. Qui-gon scowls as well, seeming to feel the disturbance that accompanies my silence.

"Courage, Padawan," the helpless teacher whispers, encouragingly. Courage, really? I want to smack the Jedi for that.

The boy is literally dying of pain and he wants him to have _courage_? Okay, that word sounds downright weird when I think about it more than once. Wonder why that is… Anyway, we will see how well that works out momentarily.

I, am magic. Just as that thoughts ends, Obi-wan screams. He sits up, despite his injuries, and grabs his belly, lips pressed together tightly to hold in further sounds. Qui-gon watches quietly.

Another scream; and I notice a small twitch underneath the skin on his side. The most vulnerable place in a person is from the inside. The boy cannot help it, I assume, clucking my tongue.

He screams again. Savagely, he claws at his stomach, creating small gashes in the flesh as he cries out in agony. "Get it out! Get the blasted thing_ OUT_!" He howls, falling unto his back again. This is the part where…Ooh, there he goes.

His entire body, it jerks and shudders with a seizure of screaming agony. I can almost feel his pain in my own gut as the machine inside pokes; prods and pulls at things inside of him I assume it probably should not touch. "Get it out!" he repeats, unable to pull himself out of the horrible, ear-splitting reaction his body was having.

In an attempt to get everything _vital _out of the way, his brain was making him twist this way and that. Ligaments are stretched and snapped. Bones crack under the strain. Muscles pull themselves taut. Nerves pump boldly and without ending pressure.

The Jedi child is sobbing; his back arches and his hands scrabble at his waist now, scratching. I glance at Qui-gon; his face is screwed into anxious concern and unfathomable guilt.

"Obi-wan!" he calls, as if to pull his apprentice back to normalcy. Obi-wan's eyes roll into his head as he howls in pain. "Get it out! Please, _please_, get it out!" he begs.

He was so loud. I smile cordially at Qui-gon, who's eyes suddenly snap up to me, filled with alarm. "What is it _doing_ to him?" He gasps. Apparently, he is not familiar with this method.

Interesting, I have entertained the fancy that I started a trend. Mayhap it is very popular on some backwater planet.

"Tearing and poking vital organs. The body will heal itself in time, meaning two or three years. Though the procedure is quite…Painful," I explain, to the obvious. Qui-gon says nothing, only wrenches his sight back to his apprentice.

"Obi-wan! Child, breathe, relax apprentice," he orders sharply, to no affect. Obi-wan has no control over his own body. As he sobs, claws and screams, his brain is intent on saving his pathetic life. All of a sudden, something I had not expected happens.

"Master," Obi-wan, cries, desperately. Teary, glassy and disturbed eyes stare at Qui-gon. "Master, please, get it out!" he begs. Qui-gon only stares, slowly shaking his head, as if he cannot believe it. "You can help him," I offer. "If you tell me what I want to know," I do not think he heard me. Obi-wan is quite loud by this point, you see?

"Master! Qui-gon, it's _killing_ me! Please!" His apprentice, pulled to the limit by my oh-so-handsome skill, pleads again. Qui-gon's nearly cracks. I can see it on his face, and the way his mouth flies open, as if to declaim all. Then he snaps his mouth shut. Blast him!

"Obi-wan. Oh, apprentice, forgive me," he mutters, closing his eyes. What, Jedi? Are you too coward to watch? Are you too much of a blasted pusillanimous filth to watch the damage you are causing? _"Qui-gon!"_ Obi-wan sobs again, as he chokes out blood.

I turn. Time to go get the ants. "I'll see you two gentlemen later," I call. "No!" That wretched gasp comes from Master Jinn. "You…You can't possibly_ leave_ him like this! Can't you see he's killing himself?" Qui-gon shouts.

"That is your doing," I reply, not turning. Like I want to see the boy choking and sobbing spittle and blood all over himself. "He's only a _child_!" Qui-gon shouts, with a tint of pleading in his voice.

"Good men always die young," I pretend to lament, with as much drama as is in his voice. Nothing more comes from the Jedi master. Smiling, I walk away.

* * *

**_Later:_**

When I open the door again, an hour later, the scene has quite changed. The spasm has passed, and my little device is on the ground near the Padawan's mouth, rolled into a placid and bloody ball. I quirk my brows. It was sitting in a pool of stomach acid and blood. Apparently he had vomited it out. Impressive feat, that.

My little boy is on the ground, weeping distraughtly, as his body is curled into a ball. His master has strained his chains to the brink, pulling himself toward to his ailing Padawan, though I can tell Obi-wan is unresponsive.

So much so in fact that there was not an inch further he could move. Qui-gon's head is bent in shame, and I saw one tear run down his cheek, uncontained. Obi-wan sniffles quietly, still sobbing.

When the door opens, he curls himself tighter. "No," the Jedi pupil moans. "No, no, no. Not again. No more. No more," his body begins to shiver with desperation, his sobs growing louder. "Courage, Obi-wan," Qui-gon murmurs, without any heart, as he looks up. His face is shut down, eyes hard as steel.

"You're a bloody monster," he growls at me, without hesitation. "And you are an uncaring mentor," I reply, holding the box of skittering insects in my grasp.

"All I want is coordinates. Two numbers. A town. A building. Something. And you put the boy through all this just to keep it. You have no heart, no compassion," I respond, calmly. He closes his eyes in the same pain as his apprentice. "You are a fool," he replies, without explanation.

"With joy," I acknowledge happily. I close the door behind me and strut forward. "Quiet down, boy. You'll strain your vocal chords," I cluck. "No more," he whimpers softly. I pick up my ball. "No worries, there will be no more of this thingy," I tell him comfortingly.

"I only have ants for you. Granted, they are yellow fire ants and their bite will sting like the _blazes_. Imagine, thousands of them here, too. Vicious little biters; and the size of my thumb. They like to attack anything near them. Try not to let them get into your ears or nose. It will become quite uncomfortable," I advise, with the same compassion his master refuses to show.

He lets out a sob. "Nooo," he moans.

"He cannot take much more," Qui-gon intervenes, his voice hoarse, as if he had been screaming too. "Well, whose fault is that? If he dies, he dies. Don't blame me," I grunt. "He is a _child_," Qui-gon emphasizes once more, though with more desperation.

"Good men always die young. Would you rather it be you?" I ask. "Yes," comes the immediate response. "No," Obi-wan mutters, sniffling. Finally, he looks up, and his eyes are red-rimmed, desperate, glassy and unfocused, but pleading.

"No, not master, too," he manages to choke. "Silence yourself, Padawan," Qui-gon orders starkly. Obi-wan ignores him. "No. Take me. I'll do it. Not master," groaning, he puts his head between his knees again. "Take _me_," he whispers, trembling.

Such selflessness. It was touching…To an extent, anyhow. Partly idiotic. After all, why would you sacrifice yourself for someone who obviously didn't give a who about you? I would have been chanting_: "take him!"_ since the start.

"Well, the boy has spoken," I decide. "He does not know what he is talking about," Qui-gon argues frantically. "He's half mad!" Well, that is a nice way to talk about your apprentice.

"He seems pretty smart to me," I object, placing the box of angry and skittering bugs over his apprentice. Obi-wan whimpers in fear. "Sorry, buddy," I open the box and jump back quickly as thousands of insects rain down on the Padawan.

A second later, the sound of hissing and scrabbling legs reaches me, by the door. Obi-wan cries out.

That shout is quickly silenced and replaced by sputtering. Some of them have obviously tried to get into his mouth and nose.

Poor chap is covered by a neon yellow carpet, all of whom are hissing lividly. I can hear them running about on his skin, the sound reminds me of the small patter of rain.

The covered body thrashes and wiggles weakly, trying to get them off. "M-master!" he gasps out. A slim hand shoots out of the mass, covered in yellow colored bugs. The apprentice reaches for his protector. Qui-gon struggles, pulling at his chains.

"Ahh! Qui-gon!" More spluttering. "Obi-wan! No!" Several seconds have passed. Surely he is covered by multiple ant bites in every inch of his body by now. I itch underneath my collar, feeling the sting of ants on myself now too, even though none have strayed from their prey.

"They'll kill him!" Qui-gon shouts at me, irately. "Probably," I agree. Qui-gon looks back at his wriggling apprentice, the same who has taken this fate from him. "You…You can't. _Please_. My apprentice… I cannot watch…" He shakes his head and looks back up at me.

"I _implore_ you, stop this. He is but a child," he begs, eyes swimming in desolate anxiety, the nameless fear of a father. I shrug. A sob from said child. A muffled scream, then splutter.

"Master, I…I…Sorry…" Those words, spoken in intervals between sobs, ended with an exhaled breath, the last breath of a dying man. Obi-wan ceased struggling underneath his carpet of ants. The body went still, twitching occasionally. The ants kept scrambling. Must be dead, I reckon.

"Obi-wan!" Qui-gon snaps, his voice cracking. "Padawan!" No response. "Obi-wan Kenobi, answer me!" Nothing. I chuckle and shake my head. "I think he might be dead, old fellow. Or unconscious. See what your vow of silence has done?" I inquire mercilessly. His eyes remain on Obi-wan. He's breaking now, bout time, huh?…

I wait; one heartbeat…two heartbeats…three heartbeats…

"_ALRIGHT!"_ Qui-gon bursts out, wildly. "Alright, I concede! I'll do anything, just _save_ him!" he shouts. Now this was more like it. "Very well," carefully, I extract the scented pouch from my utility belt and throw it into the box. It is the scent of their queen. Clever man, ain't I?

I set down the box, and and with feral instinct, the ants scramble back into confinement. At the same time, I press down a button, and the chains about his wrist tumble away. There we have it, _mercy_.

Qui-gon, weak and frail as the old man is, wastes no time in hurrying over to his limp and lifeless apprentice. "Obi-wan!" He cries as he drops beside the boy and takes Obi-wan into his arms, swiping away the occasional ant and examining the ruby skin of his apprentice.

Once pale, the skin is now the color of crimson, red with bites. At Qui-gon's touch, the boy groans.

He is alive, then, Pity.

"Padawan, can you hear me? Speak to me Obi-wan," he whispers, gently brushing back the blood soaked hair. "Hurts," I hear the boy whisper. "Master….Ugh…_Hurts,"_ he cringes as he whispers it, lamely.

"I know," Qui-gon assures him, guiltily. "I know; my brave, precious apprentice. I will not let anything else harm you, I promise," he says, finger slightly tracing the scars and bruises and bones.

I have never seen anyone handle a child with such care. "Yes, yes, very sweet. The information now please," I call, impatient. Qui-gon looks up, as if seeing me for the first time, and suddenly his body clenches. I have the distinct feeling that if he could, he would kill me right now. He glares straight death.

"I swear, I swear it by the_ force_, you will pay for this," he sneers. "Shut up and tell me what I want to know. Or I'll yank him from your arms and pour more ants on him," I threaten in return. "No," Obi-wan sobs quietly. "No. Not again," he pleads. Qui-gon presses the boy closer to his chest and lets out a shuddering breath.

"Fine. I…" I was on the cusp of victory, I am so blasted _close_, when an explosion rocks the kriffing building. "Intruders! Intruder alert!" The automated alarm shrieks. "Damn it all, what now?" I demand, thoroughly exasperated with this tomfoolery. _Jedi,_ man.

"Now, you repay your dues!" I swirl around, only to have my sight obstructed by an enraged Jedi Master, who leaps across the space between us and tackles me down. His apprentice remains sprawled on the ground, glassy eyes watching the fight without emotion.

I reach for my blaster. What Bounty hunter doesn't have a blaster? But Qui-gon irate Jinn slams it out of my hand, and his eyes streaking with slits of yellow, twists my arm behind my back. Searing pain blocks my vision a bit, long enough for another person, a woman this time, to appear in_ my_ doorway.

What now, blast it? Who in the heck was this?

"Tahl!" The Jedi Master pressing my face into the floor gasps. I glance up. The woman, a lightsaber on her belt, is not looking at her comrade, rather her comrade's apprentice. She is wearing an expression of profound shock and disbelief.

"Obi?"She croaks. Oh, so Jedi give their kids _nicknames_, huh? How cute. Jinn suddenly yanks me up, by the hair, no less, and marches me over to the wall.

I am paralyzed with shock myself. Never, ever in all my years had I been captured by my prisoners. I have always been the hotshot winner, laughing as I strut away, cocky as a rooster. This time, though, the rooster had been strutting in the wrong field.

Blasted Jedi.

Jinn slams me, none too gently and with no compassion whatsoever, into the wall where he had once been. I can feel him trembling. He's exhausted, and starved, yet his strength is staggeringly higher than my own. Besides, I'm shocked stiff here. I mean, I had been so kriffing_ close_!

He closes the shackles about my own wrists, pinning me there, mouth agape, and sneers at me before whirling around. This Jedi-Tahl-has Obi-wan's head cradled against her breast, her eyes swimming in enraged worry. "Oh, my Obi-wan. My child, what has been done to you?" She mutters, as he clings to her, shivering.

"Tahl. Tahl. Tahl," He stutters confusedly and hopefully. "Tahl. Mother. Tahl," mother? Did I hear that right? What in the world did he mean, mother? Jedi do not have mothers, or kin that they knew of. Qui-gon buckles beside mother dearest, peering anxiously at the bundle in her lap.

"You've brought local militia?" He wonders hoarsely, and quietly, as if he were trying to avoid disrupting something. "Senate guards. And Master Mundi. Qui-gon, how could you let this happen?" She answers, and even I can totally tell she is_ peaked_.

My own Ma had used that tone with Da once, only once, when da had hit me. A good whack upside the mouth. Da had gotten a whacking of his very own that day, and a great headache to match, from her shouting at him after. This Tahl lady looks very much like she wants to tear the head off Jinn's shoulders.

He looks as if he would not stop her if she tried.

"Tahl…" He begins, tiredly. "Force blast it all, Qui, he's only fifteen! You're supposed to _protect _him!" She snaps. I lean back, wondering how I might get out of this mess alive.

I have never experienced this situation before. "Master," young Obi-wan whispers as I hear shooting and shouts from down the hall, accompanied by a lightsaber.

"Don' blame 'im. Not his fault. Be nice, Tahl," he says, and that one sentence takes all strength from him. He sinks against her, eyes closed, forehead clammy and breathing ragged.

Tahl; looks up at Qui-gon's face, eyes burning with fire. At the sight of his expression, one I cannot see since he is currently turned away, her face softens.

Then she catches sight of me. Uh, oh.

I tip my chin up, just a smidge, since I do not intend to let some _woman_ intimidate me. She does it anyway. She glares at me, and I gulp, wonder what that glare spells out for my future.

Qui-gon turns also, and the pure, downright _rage_ in his eyes authorizes her unsigned death sentence. "Qui-gon," she whispers, glancing at the door. It closes, without her touching it. Hmm, so that was what the Force was. Oh.

"I know how you can seek reconciliation with me. Destroy that kriffing _decadence_ this instant," she orders, with no more alarm than if she were speaking of the weather in _very _angry tones.

"What?" I unconsciously scramble backwards. "What do you mean? You're Jedi, remember? You can't kill me!" I protest. "Good men always die young," Qui-gon growls ironically, as she presses a shiny handle into his palm.

He ignites the saber, and green light comes frothing out, hissing in final approval of its appointed task. I gawk. These people are Jedi! They…It's….I won't…what in the heck do you do in these situations? I have seen Jedi go mad, and Jedi give up, but never seen Jedi go…Dark.

It is overloading my brain, man!

Qui-gon stalks forward, and I cast a pleading look at Obi-wan, but he is unconscious, and in the protective grip of Tahl, who has turned her face away.

"Stop! _Help_! Please, you can't…" He never even lets me get my last word out. The cut is quick, to the point, and strangely, too merciful for something that is supposed to be revenge.

_ "You will break neither of us, only yourself,"_ I guess this is what he meant when he said that, huh? Because in the end, neither of them died, both of them went on to fight another day, and change the galaxy. And me? Well, I get the punishment of eternal jail time.

* * *

Sidenote 1: Please excuse any small errors in tenses. I usually write in past tense and third person, but I've been trying to expand my horizons, so I decided to try for first person and present tense. Needless to say, there will be a few mistakes every here and there.

Sidenote 2: In case there is any confusion about it, sodium chloride is just a scientific and long word for salt. I learned it all of two months ago, so I thought I'd add the defenition just in case.

Sidenote 3: Who thinks I should add another two stories stemming along this plot, only going down the line? From Obi-wan to Anakin, then Anakin to Ahsoka and force knows I can't go much farther than that. I just want to know if it would seem interesting.

~Queen Yoda


End file.
